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FOR DAILY BREAD

A Story from the Life of American
Emigrants

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Copyright, 1896, by Henry Altemus.

For Daily Bread.

OINUI,

oclioo^m

CONTENTS

For Daily Bread ... x

An Artist's End . . . 15 j

A Comedy of Errors . . 171

FOR DAILY BREAD.

I.

THE VOYAGE.

A German steamer, the "Bliicher,"
from Hamburg, was on her way to
America.

It was the fourth day of her voyage
and the second since she had left the
green shores of Ireland behind and was
on the open sea. From her deck, as far
as the eye could reach, nothing was to
be seen, but an expanse of greyish-green
water, ploughed into deep, foam-crested
furrows, getting darker in the distance
and melting intO' the horizon covered
with fleecy clouds.

The reflection of the clouds lent here
and there a pearly tint to the water, on
the background of which the black hull
3

4 For Daily Bread.

stood out in sharp distinct lines. Her
head was toward the "West and she rose
and fell steadily with the waves; at
times she seemed to disappear altogether
and then again rose almost clean out of
the water. Waves went to meet her
and she went towards the waves cutting
them in two with her bow. A long
streak of churning, milky water trailed
like a serpent behind and a few seagulls
followed screaming in her wake.

The wind was favorable, the ship was
going at half speed and had hoisted all
her canvas. The weather seemed to
improve steadily, and long rifts of blue
sky appeared between the ragged clouds.
There had been a strong wind blowing
ever since the "Bliicher" left Hamburg,
but no gale. The wind was due west,
but fell at intervals; then the sails came
down with a heavy flapping sound but
soon filled again. Sailors dressed in
blue jerseys tightened or slackened the

The Voyage. 5

ropes with the monotonous chanting of
"Yo-hoy! Yo-hoy!" stooped and rose in
time to the doleful tune, which mingled
with the boatswain's shrill whistle and
the fitful puffing and breathing of the
funnel.

Attracted by the improving weather,
most of the passengers had come on
deck. There were the dark overcoats
and hats of the first-class passengers; on
the forecastle the motly crowd of steer-
age passengers, mostly emigrants. Some
sat on benches with short clay pipes be-
tween their lips, others were stretched
out at full length looking down into
the water.

Several palefaced women with child-
ren in their arms, and tin mugs fas-
tened to their belts crouched wherever
there was room. Young men, steady-
ing themselves with difficulty, walked
up and dovm and staggering at every
step, sang: "AVo ist das deutsche Vater-

6 For Daily Bread.

land?" and may be tlioiight tliat most
likely they would never see tliat Vater-
land again, but nevertheless looked
cheerful enough.

At a little distance from all these
people stood two, who seemed more
lonely and sadfaced than the others; an
elderly man and a young girl. They
did not speak German, hence their soli-
tude among strangers. They were
Polish peasants.

The man's name was Laurence To-
porek, and the girl, his daughter, Ma-
risha. They were going to America
and had only now come on deck for
the first time. On their faces, yellow
from recent sickness, was an expression
of mingled terror and astonishment.
They looked around with frightened
eyes, at their fellow-passengers, at the
sailors, the panting funnel, and the big
waves which sent heavy spray and foam
over the gimwales. They did not dare

The Voyage. 7

to speak even to each other. Laurence
clutched at the railing with one hand,
holding his square cap with the other,
lest the wind should cany it away;
Marisha held fast to her father, and
when the ship heaved more violently
she clung closer to him, uttering low
exclamations of terror. After some-
time the old man broke the silence:

"Marisha!"

"Yes, Dad?"

"Dost thou see all that?"

"Yes, I see."

"Art astonished?"

"I am. Daddy."

But she w^as still more terrified than
astonished at what she saw, and old
Toporek the same. Fortunately for
them, the waves grew less in size, the
wind fell altogether, and the sun burst
through the clouds. "When they saw
the sun once more they felt cheered and
comforted, and thought it were the same

8 For Daily Bread.

as shone at home. Everything was
strange and new to them, and only the
life and warmth giving orb seemed an
old friend and benefactor.

In the meantime the sea had grown
smoother. At the shrill whistle from
the upper deck, the sailors nimbly
climbed the rigging to furl the sails.
The sight of these men hanging in mid
air impressed the two with awe.

"Our lads could not do that," said the
old man.

"If the Germans can do it, ours could.
Jan could do it," relied Marisha.

"Which Jan, Sobkoff?"

"'No, not Sobkoff. Jan Smolak, the
groom."

"He is a smart lad, I know, but put
him out of thy head Marisha. Thou
art going to be a lady, and he is noth-
ing but a groom, and not likely to be
anything more."

"He has got his own bit of land."

The Voyage. 9

"He has — at Lipiuce."

Marisha was silent after that and
thought with a longing sigh, if Heaven
had decreed it, all would come right in
the end. The sails had been furled
and the screw began to chum the
waters, and the heaving of the ship had
almost ceased. In the distance the sea
looked smooth and blue.

People began to come up more and
more from the steerage quarters: lab-
orers, German peasants, idlers and va-
grants from different towns, all in search
of a fortune — but not of work ; the deck
became crowded, therefore Laurence
and his daughter, so as not to be in
in anybody's way, went to the farthest
end of the bows and sat down on a coil
of rope.

"Dad, shall we be on the water much
longer?" asked Marisha.

"How can I know ? If I speak to
anybody they stare at me and don't

10 For Daily Bread.

seem to understand a Christian lan-
guage."

"And how shall we be able to make
ourselves understood in America T'

^TDid they not tell us that out there
are thousands of our people?"

"Daddy!"

"What is it?"

"It is all very strange and wonder-
ful, but it is best at home, at Lipince."

"Don't talk nonsense, child!"

After a while Laurence added as if
to himself:

"It is the will of God."

Tears sprung to the girl's eyes and
then both grew silent and thoughful,
their minds wandering back to the past.
Laurence pondered how it had come to
pass he was on his way to America. It
had happened in this way. Some six
months before his cow had strayed into
a neighbors field, and been impounded.
The man who had taken the cow claimed

The Voyage. 11

three roubles for the damage don© to
his clover. Laurence refused to pay,
and they went to law. The case did
not come on for some time. The neigh-
bor did not claim damages alone, but
also for the keep of the cow, and the
costs grew larger every day. Laurence
was obstinate and did not like parting
with the money. He had spent a good
deal already on the law suit, which
dragged on for a long time, the ex-
penses increasing steadily. At last Lau-
rence lost his case. He owed the Lord
knows how much for the c^w already;
and as he had not money enough to pay
the full claim, they took his horse, and
sentenced him to a term of imprison-
ment for resisting the law. Toporek
writhed in despair. The harvest was
at hand, when he and his horse would
be wanted. He was late with his crops,
the rain ruined the grain; all this
through the bit of damage in a neigh-

12 For Daily Bread.

bor's field. All his money had gone,
his harvest was mined, and beggary
stared him in the face.

As he had been a well-to-do peasant,
lucky so far in all his ventures, he grew
desperate and began to drink. At the
inn he fell in with a German, who under
pretext of buying flax, persuaded peo-
ple to emigrate. The German began
telling him wondrous things about
America, and said that he could there
get more land than the whole village
owned, together with pasture-land and
woods. Toporek's eyes sparkled with
anticipation. It was too good to be
time, and he would not have believed
it, had not the dairy-farmer, a Jew,
confirmed the German's tale, and said
he knew from his nephew that land
could be. got from the government for
the asking. The German dangled great
estates before his eyes. They tempted
the man imtil he was fairly caught.

The Voyage. 13

Why should he stop here? Had he not
already lost as much money as would
have enabled him to keep a helper?
Should he wait here until the last of
the property was gone and then take the
beggar's staff and sing at the church
dooi"s? "N^o! we have not come to
that/' he thought, and grasped the Ger-
man's hand; sold out at Michaelmas,
took his daughter, and here he was on
his way to America.

But the journey had depressed him
not a little. To start with, they had
fleeced him at Hamburg ; on the ship, he
was one among a crowd of steerage
passengers. They pushed him out of
the way like a thing of no account and
mocked at the language they could not
understand. At dinner time, when all
swarmed round the cook with their tin
mugs, they were crowded out and often
went hungry. The heaving of the ship
and sight of that great waste of water

14 For Daily Bread.

terrified tliem. They were ill-at-ease
and lonely among a crowd of strangers.
Beside God's protection there was no
other. Lanrence tried to look uncon-
cerned before his daughter. "With his
cap put jauntily on one side, he bade
her look at things and marvel; he him-
self marv^elled at what he saw, but at
the same time his heart quaked with
fear lest those heathens, as he called
his fellow passengers, should throw him
into the water, or make him change his
faith, or sell his soul to the evil one.

That very ship that went on churning
the water night and day, breathed and
panted like a living thing, and like a
dragon trailed behind her a hail of fiery
sparks seemed to him an unholy thing.
These childish fears, though he did not
acknowledge them before his daughter,
weighed heavily on his heart; for this
Polish peasant, torn away from his
homely nest, was verily a mere helpless

The Yoj£ige. 15

child with nobody but God to prote<?t
him. He could neither understand nor
take in what he saw, and sitting with
bowed head on the coil of rope, his
heart full of nameless' trouble, he heard
the wind whistle the name of "Lipince!
Lipincel" The sun looked down at him
and said : "How goes it Laurence ? I have
been in Lipince." But the screw went
round and round and churned the water,
and the smokestack breathed and panted
like twO' evil spirits that dragged him
further and further away from home.
Other memories, like seagulls follow-
ing the ship, fluttered around Marisha.
Hei' thoughts carried her back to a quiet
evening, shortly before their departure,
when she went to the well to draw
water. Raising the heavy crane she
sang :

".Tan was driving his team
Whilst Kasia went to the well."

It was a sad little voice not unlike

16 For Daily Bread.

the howling of the swallows before set-
ting ont for their long journey. FroDi
the verge of the wood came a long
whistle. It was Jan Smolak's signal
that he had seen the crane moving.

Presently the dull thud of horses,
hoofs w^as heard, and then he himself
appeared, jumped from the foal and
what he said seemed to her now like
some far off music. She shuts her eyes,
andlistens again to^Jan's trembling voice
"If thy dad proves obdurate, I shall
throw up my place, sell the cabin, the
bit of land, and follow thee. Marisha,
where thou art, I shall be; as the birds
fly towards the sun, I will fly unto thee ;
I will sail doAATi the stream like the wild
drake, or like the gold ring roll down
the road until I find thee, my own.
How could I live- without thee Mary?
Thy ways will be my ways, what hap-
pens to thee will happen to me, in life
and death we w^ill be one; and as I have

The Voyage. 17

vowed here before the Avell, may God
desert me, if I desert thee, my own
love."

Recalling these words Marisha saw
before her the old well, the red moon
rising beyond the woods, and the manly
figure of Jan Avowing to be faithful.

These thoughts carried hope and com-
fort tO' her heart. Jan was finn and
steady and she believed he would do as
he promised. How she wished he were
here listening to the sound of the waves.
They would not feel so forlorn; he was
not afraid of anything and always found
a way out of every difficulty. AVhat
was he doing now at Lipince ? Thei first
snow must have fallen by this time.
Has he gone to the woods with his axe
or is he busy with the horses? Maybe
they sent him off somewhere with the
sledge, or he was cutting holes in the
ice on the pond? Where was her sweet-
heart now? And the girl saw the pic-
■>

18 For Daily Bread.

ture of tlie village: the liarcl snow creak-
ing under the heels of the passers-bj ;
the ruddy glow shining through the leaf-
less branches, and rocks flying overhead
with their loud monotonous croaking,
the smoke curling up from the chimneys,
and in the distance, the woods pow-
dered with snow, reflecting the red light
of the setting sun.

Heigho! and where was she? Where
had her father's will carried her? As
far as the eye could see nothing but
water, ploughed into greenish, foam-
crested furrows, and on these immense
waters this lonely ship like a stray bird ;
the sky above, a watery desert below,
the sound of wind and waves around
them, and before them, maybe, the end
of the world.

Jan, poor laddie, will you find her
even if you could skim through space
like a falcon, or breast the ocean like a
fish; do you think of her in the distant
village?

The Voyage. 19

Slowly the sim began to sink and
dipped into the ocean. On the rippled
surface of the water appeared a broad
shining path skimmering and glittering
with the ever changing motion, then sud-
denly flamed up and lost itself in the
distance. The ship, entering into the
fiery path, seemed to rush on in pursuit
of the vanishing sun.

The smoke coming from the funnel
became red, the sails and moist lines
changed into pink, and the sailors began
to sing. The glowing orb became lar-
ger and dipped lower into the sea.
Presently only half of it was visible,
then a half-circle of shooting flames,
and the whole west appeared like a great
conflagration without distinction of sky
or water; the waves murmured gently
as if saying their evening prayer.

At such moments the human soul has
wings; long forgotten memories come
back in crowds, lost loves hover around
and we go to meet them.

20 For Daily Bread.

Laurence and Marisha both felt like
this, though they were like leaves torn
from the tree which has its roots deep
in the soil. Their thoughts are not in
the future but in the past. They go
back to the lanes waving %vith golden
corn where the thatched cabins shaded
with lime-trees are dotted about; back to
the soil, the great mother of all, who
nourished them lovingly, honest and be-
loved above all others on earth. That
what their simple hearts had never felt
before, they felt now. Laurence took
off his cap and the last rays of the sun
shone on his grey hair; his brain was
working how to clothe in words and tell
his daughter what he felt, at last he
said:

"Marisha! it seems to me as if we had
left everything on the other side of the
water."

"Aye, our life we left there and our
hearts," she replied in a low voice, and

The Voyage. 21

raising her eyes the lips moved as if in
silent prayer.

It had grown dark. The passengers
gradually disappeared below, but there
was still an unusual stir on deck. After
a fine sunset often comes a stormy night.
The ofiicers' whistle sounded continually
and the sailors hauled in the ropes.
The last purple light vanished from the
water and at the same time a mist rose;
the stars twinkled in the sky and then
disappeared. The mist grew thicker
every minute and gradually veiled the
sky, the horizon, and the very ship.
The only visible thing was the smoke-
stack and the main-mast; the figures of
the sailors looked like shadows in the
distance. An hour later everything was
wrapped up in a white shroud, even the
lanterH. on the ship's mast and the sparks
flying from the funnel.

The ship did not roll any more. It
seemed as if the waves had been crushed

22 For Daily Bread.

and smootlied under the weight of the
mist.

The night came on very dark and
quiet. Presently, amid the stillness
there came mysterious whispers from all
directions, then a heavy breathing as
from a gigantic breast drawing nearer
and nearer. At times it seemed as if
a voice was calling out in the darkness,
then more voices wailing plaintively in
the distance. The voices are drawing
nearer towards the ship.

The sailors hearing them say the
storm calls the winds from the nether
world.

The warnings became more' distinct.
The Captain dressed in oilskins stood
on the quarterdeck; the first mate took
his usual position near the compass.
The passengers had all gone below.
Laurence and Marisha descended to
their quarters. It was very quiet there.
The lamps fixed on the low ceiling

The Voyage. 23

threw a dim light on the gToups crouch-
ing ne^r their berths, or close to the
wall. The room was large, but grim
looking as a fourth class waiting room.
The ceiling sloped towards the bows and
the berths at that end were more like
dark holes than sleeping places, and the
whole compartment had the appearance
of an immense cellar. The air was per-
meated with the smell of tarred ropes
and damp mouldiness. What a differ-
ence between this and a fii*st class saloon.
A voyage of even two weeks as steer-
age passenger fills the limgs with poi-
sonous air, takes the healthy color out
of the face, and as often as not pro-
duces scurvy.

It was not many days since Laurence
and Marisha had come on board the
"Bliicher," and yet those who formerly
had known the rosy-faced country girl
would scarcely have recognized her as
the same person. Old Laurence, too,

24 For Daily Bread.

looked very yellow. They looked worse
than anybody else, because for the first
few days they had not dared to go on
deck; they thought it was not allowed;
they were afraid tO' move; how could
they know what was permitted and what
was prohibited? They sat now, like all
the others, near their belongings. The
whole place was strewn with bundles of
all shapes and sizes. Bedding, gar-
ments, provisions, and tin vessels were
distributed everywhere in little mounts;
and on these sat the emigrants, mostly
Germans. Some chewed tobacco, others
smoked pipes; the clouds of smoke
curled up tO' the low ceiling and dimmed
the light of the lamps. A few child-
ren wailed in the comers; but the usual
noise and racket had subsided; they all
seemed tO' be subdued or oppressed by
the fog. The' more experienced emi-
grants knew a storm was coming. It
was no secret to all of them that danger

The Voyage. 25

was drawing nigh, maybe death
Laurence and Marisha knew nothing
about it, though when the hatchway was
opened they heard the sinister voices
coming from the boundless space.

They were sitting near the bows,
where the annoying motion of the ship
was mostly felt, and for that reason they
had been pushed there by their com-
panions. The old man was munching
a piece of dry bread, the remnant of
provisions brought from home, and
Marisha, tired of doing nothing was
braiding her hair for the night.

After a time the dead silence, inter-
rupted only by the cries of children,
seemed to attract her attention.

"Why are the Germans so quiet to-
day?" she asked.

"How can I know?" replied Laurence.
"Maybe it is some religious ceremony
of theirs."

Suddenly the ship rocked heavily as

26 For Daily Bread.

if startled by a dreadful apparition.
The tin vessels on the floor clattered;
the gloomy light jumped and flared up,
and frightened voices asked:

"What was that?"

There was no answer. Another shock,
more powerful than the first, struck the
ship; the bows rose suddenly and as
suddenly fell again, and a heavy wave
came crashing against the ship's planks.

"A storm is coming," whispered Ma-
risha, in a terrified voice. Then some-
thing roared around the vessel like the
wind among huge forest trees, or a pack
of hungry wolves in scent of a prey.
The wind struck the ship once or twice,
and laid her low, then turned her round,
raised her high, and hurled her down
into the depths. The timber creaked,
the tin mugs, kettles, and bundles were
thrown from one comer to the other.
Scattered feathers were flying round,
some people trying to steady them.selves

The Voyage. 27

fell do"OTi on the floor, and the lamps
jingled and rattled dolefully.

Then came a roar, a heavy thud, and
the splashing of waves across the deck;
the ship staggered as though in a drunk-
en frenzy, and the wailing of the child-
ren and outcries of women, mingled
with the shrill whistle from the quar-
terdeck, and the heavy tread of the
sailors.

"Holy Mother of God!" whispered
Marisha.

The bows of the ship where both were
crouching rose and fell rapidly and in
spite of their holding on to their berths
they were bruised against the beams.
The roaring of the waves increased, the
timber creaked and groaned, and it
seemed as if at any moment the ship
would go to pieces.

"Hold on fast, Marisha," shouted Lau-
rence, so as to make himself heard amid
the uproar, but terror held him by the

28 For Daily Bread.

throat as it did the others. Even the
children left off wailing, the women did
not scream any longer, but all breasts
were heaving in silent anguish, and con-
vulsive hands clutched anything for
support.

The force of the storm was still in-
creasing. The elements had lashed
themselves into fury; the mist was mixed
up with the darkness, the clouds with
the water, the wind with the foam.
The waves thundered against the ship
with the roar of cannons and great
masses of seething water swept over her,
fore and aft.

The oil lamps, one by one, began to
go out. It became darker and darker,
and to Laurence and his daughter it
seemed like the darkness of death.

"Marisha," began the peasant in a
gasping voice, because the breath failed
him, "Marsiha, forgive mei that I led
you intO' destruction. Our last hour

The Voyage. 29

has come. We shall never see the world
with oiir sinful eyes again. No holy
sacraments for ns or Extreme Unction;
not for us to lie in sacred gTOund, but
from the waters we must rise for the
Last Judgment." When he said this,
Marisha understood that all hope was
lost. Various thoughts crossed her
mind and something seemed to cry out
aloud.

"Jan! Jan! My own, do you hear
me in far off Lipince?"

A teiTible anguish tore her heart and
she began to sob aloud. Her sobbing
became audible amid the general silence.
Somebody from a corner called out : "Be
still!" and then as if afraid of his own
voice relapsed again into silence. The
glass fell down from a lamp, and an-
other light went out, and it became
darker still. The people huddled to-
gether, to be within reach of each other.
The awful silence still reigned unbro-

so For Daily Bread.

ken, when amid the general hush, the
voice of Laurence rose in a quavering
but sufficiently loud tone:

"Kyrie Eleison."

"Ohriste Eleison," responded Marisha
sobbing.

"O Lord, we beseech thee to hear us."

"O Lord have mercy upon us."

They were saying the Litany.

The voice of the old man and the
faltering response of the girl sounded
very solemn in the darkness. Some of
the emigrants bared their heads. Grad-
ually the two voices became steadier and
grew more distinct amid the roaring
element which played the accompani-
ment.

Presently piercing screams came from
those stationed near the hatchway; the
door burst open, the water rushed in
and flooded the compartment. The
panic-stricken women climbed on the
berths and each thought their last hour
had come.

The Voyage. 31

Upon this an officer, lantern in hand,
appeared in the door, his red face glis-
tening with moisture. He explained in
a few words that the water had come in
by accident, and that there was but lit-
tle danger for the ship on the open sea.
About two hours passed. The tempest
still raged as fiercely as ever. The tim-
ber creaked and strained, the ship rose
and fell but did not founder. Another
few hours passed, and the grey dawn
peeped through the heavily barred win-
doAvs. The morning light looked weird
and sad as if scared at its own appear-
ance, but it brought hope and comfort
to the passengers. After having re-
peated all the prayers they knew by
heart, Laurence and Marisha crept to
their hearths and fell into a heavy sleep.

They were awakened by the sound of
the breakfast bell, but neither of them
felt any desire for food. Their heads
felt as heavy as lead; especially the old.

32 For Daily Bread.

man's, whose brain was too confused to
form a single idea. The German who
persuaded him to emigrate had told him
he would have to cross the water; but
Laurence had never dreamed there
would be so much of it, and that it
would take so many days and nights to
cross it. This idea about crossing the
water was a ferry boat in which he had
crossed the river many times. Had he
known the sea was so wide he would
never have left his native laud. Besides
this, another more terrifying thought
tormented his brain: had he not brought
his soul and that of his daughter to
eternal perdition? Was it not a mortal
sin for a Catholic from Lipince to tempt
Providence by going across that waste
of water where they had been now five
days and nights without seeing any land
at all; if there be any to be seen? His
doubts and fears tore him hither and
thither, till he could not think anymore.

The Voyage. '^3

The storm raged forty-eight hours and
then abated. They dared once more to
venture on deck, but when they saw the
huge mountains of water still tossing
wildly about the ship, they thought that
only God's hand, or a superhuman power
could save them.

At last it became fine again But
one day passed after another with noth-
ing around them but the deep waters,
sometimes green, then blue, melting
into the distant horizon. Clouds drifted
along the sky which took red and golden
hues towards sunset, and the ship seemed
to be following in their wake.

Laurence thought there was indeed
no limit to the water, and he resolved
to try whether he could make himself
understood by somebody on the ship.

He lifted his square cap and bowing
very lowly, he humbly addressed a pass-
ing sailor:

"Could the gracious Pan tell me how
3

34 For Dail: Bread.

soon we might arrive at the other side
of the water?"

O wonder! the sailor did not burst
out laughing as the others had done
when Laurence spoke to them, hut stood,
still and listened. A puzzled expres-
sion came into his rugged face as if he
tried hard to remember something long
ago forgotten; after a short pause he
asked :

"Was?"

"Shall we soon see land, gracious
Pan?"

"Two days, two days," repeated the
sailor with some difficulty, and raised
two fingers, to make his meaning clearer.

"Thank you, humbly."

""Where do you come froon?"

"From Lipince."

"Was is das Lipince?"

Marisha, who had approached during
their conversation, raised her eyes tim-
idly to the sailor, and blushingly said
in a low voice:

The Voyage. 36

"We come from Posen, please sir."

The sailor looked thoughtfully at the
girl and her flaxen hair and something
like emotion seemed to work in that
rugged countenance.

After a short pause, he said gravely:

"I have been in Dantzig — I under-
stand Polish — I am a Kashuba, your
bruder — but that was long ago. Jetzt
bin ich Deutsch."

Saying this, he drew at the line he
held in his hand with the monotonous
sailor's "Yo-hoy!"

Henceforth whenever Laurence and
Marisha appeared on deck he greeted
them with a friendly smile; and they
rejoiced at having found a single soul
on this German ship that was well dis-
posed towards them.

Two days later when they came on
deck, a strange sight met their eyes.
They saw in the distance something rock-
ing on the sea, and when the ship came

36 For Daily Bread.

nearer, thej saw it was a red cask rocked
by the waves; in the distance appeared
another, a third, and a fourth. In spite
of a slight mist the smooth water shone
like silver and as far as the eye could
see, red casks in numbers were floating
on the surface. Seagulls with shrill
cries fluttered about the ship, and the
deck now became very lively. The
sailors began changing their jerseys,
some washed the deck, while others were
busy polishing the brasswork, or hoist-
ing the flag. Animation and joy pre-
vailed among all the passengers who
crowded the deck, strapping together
their lighter luggage and parcels.
Seeing all this, Marisha said:
"Surely that means we are near the
end of our voyage," and both brightened
visibly.

And then in the East appeared the
island of Sandy Hook, and another is-
land crowned with a huge building, and

The Voyage. 37

further on appeared a thick mist or
cloud, like curling smoke along the shore
full of shadowy fonnless shapes. A
joyous murmur broke from the crowd
and many hands pointed in that direc-
tion, even the boatswain's shrill whistle
seemed to participate in the universal

joy.

"What is it?" asked Laurence.

"New York," replied the Kashuba
sailor, who stood near him.

Whilst the ship ploughed onwards,
the misty cloud seemed to grow more
transparent and roofs, chimneys, and
pointed towers to emerge from it. Be-
low, near the town appeared a forest of
masts, their various colored flags flutter-
ing to the breeze like so many flowea:^
on a meadow. The ship came nearer
and nearer — and a beautiful towm seem-
ed to rise almost out of the water. A
great joy and wonder took hold of Lau-
rence's heart. He raised his cap, opened

38 For Daily Bread.

his mouth, and looked and looked, then
turned to his daughter:

'•'Marisha! dost see all that?"

"Oh, Merciful Saviour, what a sight!"

"And dost thou marvel, Marisha?"

"I do, Daddy."

Laurence not only mar\^elled at what
he saw, but his eyes began to shine.
Seeing the green banks at either side
of the town and the long stretches of
wooded parks, he exclaimed:

"Well! God be praised! If they will
let me have some land close to the town ;
with that meadow there, it would be
convenient to the market. Come mar-
ket-day; I take a cow, a pig or two, and
there is a ready sale. There is people
there as thick as poppy-seed. In Po-
land I was a peasant, here I shall be a
Pan (master)."

At that moment they came in sight
of the Batteiy Park, its whole length,
and Laurence seeing all those trees, said
3 S'ain :

The Voyage. 39

"I shall bow deeply before the gra-
cious commissioner, and maybe give a
hint to let me have a bit of that wood-
land too or at least to give me pennis-
sion to gather fuel. If we are to be
land owners let us have somethino; o-ood.
Early in the mornings I should send the
helper with timber to the market
Praised be the Lord! I see the Gemian
has not deceived me."

Marisha also smiled at the thoughts
of their great possession and what her
Jan would say when he found her a
gTeat heiress.

In the meanwhile a boat with the
quarantine officials approached the ship,
and four or five men came on deck.
Then another boat from the city itself
bringing agents from hotels, boarding
houses, railways, and money-changers,
all these pushing and jostling each other
occupied the whole deck. Laurence
and Marisha did not know what to do

40 For Daily Bread.

with themselves amid that seething
crowd.

The Kashuba sailor advised Laurence
to change his money, and he would
stand by him and see that ho was not
cheated. This advice Laurence follow-
ed. For the money he had, he received
forty-seven silver dollars. Before all
this was settled the ship had come near
the town and not only were the houses
plainly visible but also the wharves and
the people standing there; then passing
other greater and smaller ships they en-
tered the ship's dock.

The voyage was over.

People streamed across the gangway
like bees out of a hive. The firet-class
passengers took the lead, after them
came the second class, and lastly the
steerage passenger. When Laurence
and Marisha, jostled by the crowd, ar-
rived at the gangway they foimd their
friend, the sailor, standing close by.

The Voyage. 41

He grasped Laurence by the hand, and
said:

"Bnider, I wish you Gliick, and to
you also maiden. God speed you!"

"God bless you/' both said in one
voice as there was no time for more
words. The crowd carried them along
the narrow gangway into the spacious
inclosure. Officials shook and squeezed
their bundles, then shouted "all right,"
and pointed to the door. They passed
across and found themselves in the
street.

"Daddy! what shall we do now?"

"We must wait here," said Laurence.
"The German told me an agent from
the government would come to take care
of us."

And so they stood close to the wall
waiting amid the noise and turmoil of
the great town. They had never seen
anything like it. Broad and straight
streets before them crowded with

42 For Daily Bread.

people, as if at a fair, and car-
riages, laden wagons and om-
nibuses rolling along in one incessant
stream. Workmen were shouting to
eacli other, vendors crying out their
wares, a very babel of unintelligent
voices. Black people with curly heads
passed them every moment. At the
sight of those, both Laurence and Ma-
risha crossed themselves piously. They
felt utterly bewildered in a place so full
of noises, whistlingof locomotives, rumb-
ling of wheels and human voices.
Everybody seemed in such a hurry, as
if running away from somebody or in
chase of something; there seemed to be
no end to the crowd and strange looking
faces, black, olive-colored or red. "Where
they were standing, near the docks,
everything was in motion; bales were
taken from one ship to another, laden
carts arrived very minute, and wheel-
barrows rumbled over the bridges; there

The Voyage. 43

was an everlasting noise as in a saw mill.

Thus passed an hour— and another;
they still remained close to the wall,
waiting for the agent.

He looked strange and out of place
there, this Polish peasant, in the long,
grey hair, and square, fur-cap; with the
fair-haired girl, in her close fitting bo-
dice open at the throat, with rows upon
rows of beads around her neck.

People passed them without a look.
ISTobody here wonders at new faces or
strange dresses.

Another hour passed ; the sky became
overcast, rain and sleet began to fall,
and a cold wind blew from the water.
They still waited for the agent.

The peasant is by nature patient and
much enduring, but his heart began to
fail him. It had been lonesome enough
on board ship among strangers and sur-
rounded by that immensity of water.
They had prayed to God to lead them

44 For Daily Bread.

safely across the wateiy desert. They
thought if they once touched land again
they would be' safe. And here they were in
a great town amid noisy crowds, lone-
lier and more terrified than when on
board ship.

What should they do if the agent
did not come at all, if the German had
told them what was not true?

At the very thought their simple
hearts beat faster, they would be lost
indeed.

And the wind grew colder and the
rain soaked through their clothing.

"Marisha, art thou cold?" asked Lau-
rence.

"Yes, Daddy, very cold," whispered
the girl.

The town clocks again struck the
hour. It was getting dusky. The
movement in the wharves slackened, the
lamps were lit and a stream of glaring
light filled the street. The dock-labor^

The Voyage. 45

ers in lesser or greater groups, singing
and shouting, marched past them to-
wards their homes and rest. They had
nowhere to go, the cold pierced their
bones, and they began to feel very hun-
gry. If they had only a roof over their
heads to shelter them from the rain —
and the agent did not come.

Poor Laurence, poor Marisha, there
are no such things as agents to look after
stray emigTants. The German was
agent for a steamship company that paid
him a commission of so much per head
for every emigrant. It was his business
to send as many on board ship as he
could and he did not trouble himself
about anything else^.

Laurence felt that his feet were giv-
ing way, a great weight seemed to press
him down to the earth; it must be the
wrath of God which hung over him, he
thought.

"Daddy!"

46 For Daily Bread.

'^usli! be quiet, there is no mercy
for us."

"Daddy! Let us go back to Lipince."

"Let us go and drown ourselves!"

"O, Merciful God!" whispered Ma-
risha.

Laurence's heart was suddenly stirred
with compassion.

"Poor orphan! If the Lord would
only show mercy to thee."

But Marisha did not hear his words;
her eyes had closed and she slept. Fev-
erish dreams earned her back to Lipince,
and she heard Jan, the groom, singing:

'' 'Tis a great, great lady, my blue-eyed Sue,
All her possessions, a garland of rue."

The pale morning light in the New
York docks fell upon the masts, the
water, and the emigTant building. Then
it touched gently two figures sleeping
under the wall. Their faces looked
pale, and thick flakes of snow were cling-
ing to their garments.

II.

AT NEW YORK.

In ISTew York, coming from Broad-
way and passing Chatliam Square, in
the direction of the river, one crosses
several streets. Here the traveler finds
himself in a part of the city more and
more poor, desolate, squalid, and
gloomy. The streets are getting nar-
row; the houses, built perhaps by the
early Dutch settlers, are cracked and
grown crooked from extreme old age;
the roofs are bent in, the plaster has
peeled off from the walls, and the walls
themselves have sunk only part of the
windows show above the street. Crook-
ed lines take the place of the favorite
straight lines of American streets, roofs,
walls, all are strangely out of shape and
piled up one above the other.
47

48 For Daily Bread.

Being close to the river, this part of
the city is scarcely ever dry, and the
narrow streets thickly studded with
houses are like marshes full of black,
stagnant water with all kinds of refuse
floating on its greasy surface. There
is everywhere dirt, untidiness, and hu-
man misery.

In these quarters are the boarding
houses, where for two dollars a week bed
and food may be obtained; here also are
the barrooms, where the whalers entice
all sorts and conditions of men to their
ships; here agents from Venezuela,
Ecuador and Brazil tempt the unwary
to their fever-stricken marshes; eating-
houses where they feed their customers
on salt junk, bad fish, and oysters; gamb-
ling dens, Chinese laundries, and va-
rious sailore' homes; here lastly are the
dens of crime, wickedness, misery and
tears.

And yet this part of the city is very

At Nevr York. 49

crowded, for all the emigrants who can-
not find room in Castle Garden and will
not or cannot go to the lodging houses
congregate' here, live alid mostly die
hera One might say that if the emi-
grants are mostly the scum of European
countries, the inhabitants of this place
are the scum of emigration. The peo-
ple here are mostly idle, partly because
they cannot obtain work and partly be-
cause they w^ll not work. Night is
made hidious by revolver shots, cries
for help, hoarse yells of rage, songs of
drunken brawlers, or the howling of
quarreling negroes. In the daytime,
prize fights and betting on the princi-
pals are the customary amusements of
the inhabitants. Ragged children and
ourly-headed little negroes and mulat-
toes crowd the streets, picking up stray
bits of vegetables or bananas, and ima-
ciated begger women stretch out their
4

50 For Dailj Bread.

hands for alms if a well dressed person
happens to pass by.

In this earthly Gehenna we find our
old friends, Laurence Toporek and his
daughter, Marisha. The lordly posses-
sion of which they had dreamed had
vanished into air, and reality was before
them in the shape of a narrow base-
ment, deep in the ground, with one
broken ^vindow, the walls stained with
damp and black fungus, the whole fur-
niture consisting of a rusty, battered
stove, a three-legged chair, and a heap
of straw which serves for a bed.

Old Laurence on his knees before the
stove, is searching among the ashes for
a stray potato, and he returns to this
search again and again; Marisha is sit-
ting on the straw, her hands clasped
round her knees, her eyes staring on
the floor. She looks ill and wan. It
is the same Marisha, but the once rosy
cheeks are pale and thin, the whole face

At New York. 51

is smaller, and the great blue eyes have
a vacant look. Her face shows the
effects of foul air and scanty nourish-
ment.

They lived mostly on potatoes; and
now even these' have failed, and they
do not know what to do next, nor how
to livoi. It is three months since they
came into this place and their little
supply of money is gone. Laurence
tried to get work, but nobody could un-
derstand what he wanted. He Avent to
the docks ready to carry bales, or load
coals into the ships, but the Irishmca
drove him away.

Of what use was a laborer who could
not understand what was said to him.
Wherever he went, and whatever work
he tried to do, he was pushed aside and
laughed and jeered at for his pains. His
hair had grown snow-white with sorrow,
hope' had left him, his money was gone,
and hunger stared in the face.

52 For Daily Bread.

At home, among his own people, even
extreme poverty would have looked dif-
ferent. With staff in hand and a wallet
slung across his shoulders, he would
have stood singing near the cross on
the roadside or at the church entrance:
the lord of the manor would throw him
a coin from the carriage, the lady send
out a rosy-faced child who would look
wonderingly at the poor man and put
money into his hand; a peasant would
give him half a loaf of bread, and
other bits of meat, he would feed like
the birds that neither plough nor sow.
Besides, standing under the cross, he
would have God's protecting arms above,
around him the sky and fields, and in
the quiet stillness the Lord would hear
him singing in his praise. Here in this
great town there was the continual noise
and rush of people always in a hurry;
it seemed like a gigantic wheel turning
round and round and crushing all that
could not come up with it.

At New York. 53

Heigho! wliat a difference from his
former life! At Lipince, Laurence
owned a goodish bit of land; he was
elder in the village, respected by every-
body and sure of his meals for the next
day. On Sundays he stood before the
altar with a wax candle in his hand;
and here, he was the last among people,
a stray dog in a strange yard; humble,
trembling, and hung'r)\

His conscience cried out loudly:
"Laurence, why didst thou leave thy
home?" Why? Because God had be-
reft him of his senses.

The peasant has much endurance and
can-ies his burden patientW enough, if
he sees a ray of light at the end of his
calvary; but Laurence knew well enough
that it would be worse every day, and
tJie sun would rise every morning to
show a still greater depth of miser\' for
himself and his child. "What should
he do? A rope, a -prayer, and there

54 For Daily Bread.

would be an end of it. He was not
afraid to die — but what would become
of the girl?

When he though of all this, he felt
that not only God had forsaken him,
but tliat he was going mad. There was
no ray of light in the darkness he saw
before him; and the greatest pain which
continually gnawed at his heart he
could not even define or give a name
to: it was homesickness. The simple
peasant yearned for his pine woods,
thatched cabins, priests, and landlords,
all of which constituted his home and
the familiar surroundings of his former
life from which he had borne himself,
away. At times he felt inclined to tear
his hair; throw himself on the floor,
howl like a chained dog or cry out — to
whom? he did not know. He is sink-
ing under his burden and the town is
always noisy, always clamorous; he calls
to Christ; and there are no crosses on

At New York. 5~>

the roads; nobody answers or hears him;
only the noise grows louder without and
the girl crouches motionless on her
straw. They sat there from morning
until night without exchanging a word
as if they were angry with each other.
What could they talk about? The open
wounds had better be left untouched.

How was it none of their countrymen
helped them. There are many Poles in
ISTew York, but few of them who live
about Chatham Square.

In the second week after their arrival
they met two Polish families, one from
Silesia, the other from Posen, but they
were suffering themselves. The Silesi-
ans had lost two children, and with the
last surviving one had slept under the
arches of the bridges living by what
they could pick up until they were talcen
to the hospital. The second family was
in a more unhappy condition because
the father was a drunkard. Marisha

56 For Daily Bread.

had helped the woman as long as she
could; now she needed help herself.

Thej might have gone to the Polish
Church in Hoboken, and the priest
would have made their case known.
But thej were ignorant of this, could
not ask their way, and any money spent
meant a step nearer to destitution.

They sat these; he before the stove,
she on the straw in the room. Though
it was only noon, it grew darker, from
the mist arising near the water. It was
warm outside but they trembled with
cold; at last Laurence gave up all hope
of finding anything in the ashes.

"Marisha," he said, "I cannot bear it
any longer. I Avill go and see whether
I can pick up any wood and maybe find
something to eat."

She said nothing in reply, and he went
out. He had acquired some practice by
this time and knew how to catch the
driftwood which the tide brinirs near the

At New York. 57

docks. Many of those who have no
money with which to buy coal do the
same. Often he got kicked and driven
away, but now and then he found pieces
of wood or something to eat, besides the
eagerness of his search made him for-
get his hard fate and the ever present
pain of homesickness. When he reach-
ed the dock it was hmcheon time, the
men had gone away, and the smaller
boys, though they pelted him with mud
and oyster shells could not drive him
away. Pieces of wood were rocking on
the water, one wave brought them near,
another carried them back, but he man-
aged to secure a good supply neverthe-
less. Other light objects were floating
in the distance out of his reach. The
boys threw lines and drew them on the
shore. He had no line, sO' he waited
until the boys were gone, then looked
over what they had left and picked out
what he could eat. It never even

68 For Daily Bread.

crossed his mind that his daughter was
hungry.

Fortune befriended him this time.
On his way back he saw a cart laden
with potatoes stuck fast in the mud.
Laurence put his shoulder to the wheel,
and helped the driver toi get it out. It
was heavy work, but he strained all his
muscles, the horses gave a hard pull and
the cart got loose. As it was heaped
full a great many potatoes rolled off in
the mud. The driver did not stop to
pick them up, he thanked Laurence for
his help, shouted to the horses, and
drove on.

Laurence knelt down and gathered
them with trembling hands and his heart
grew hopeful once more. Wending his
way homewards, he murmured to him-
self:

"Praised be the Almighty, he has an-
swered my prayers. The lassie will
light the fire, there is wood enough, and

At New York. 59

potatoes to last us two days. The Lord
is merciful! The room will look more
cheerful, and poor Marisha will be glad.
God is merciful!"

Muttering thus, he went along, carry-
ing the wood and feeling now and then
whether the potatoes were safe. He
had a great treasure, therefore he raised
his eyes in gratitude to heaven, and
again muttered:

"I thought nothing remained for me
but to steal some food — and here it fell
from the cart like a gift from heaven.
We were without food, now we have
plenty. God be praised. Marisha will
jump up from the straw when she hears
the news."

In the meanwhile Marisha had not
changed her position. At times when
Laurence brought wood, she had made
the fire, brought water, and eaten what
there was and then sat down again star-
ing silently at the blaze. She, too, had

60 For Daily Bread.

endeavored to find work. They had
taken her on in on© of the boarding
houses toi sweep the rooms and wash
the dishes; but as they could not make
her understand and she often did the
wrong thing from not understanding
what they wanted, they sent her away
after two days' trial. Now she sat the
whole day in the house afraid to go into
the street because drunken sailors often
stopped her on the way. This enforced
idleness made her still more unhappy.
Homesickness was eating into her soul
like rust into iron. She was far less
happy than Laurence; for besides hun-
ger and the hopelessness of their future,
the thoughts of her lost love was always
with her. Jan had promised and vowed :
"Where thou goest I will go," but she
had hoped to become a lady, and now
everything was changed.

He was head groom at the Manor and
owned his own land; and she was now

At New York. 61

a poor, hungry outcast. Would lie still
follow her, take her into his strong arms
and say: "Poor, tired birdie, coine to
me, or would he cast her off as a pauper's
daughter?" The dogs would bark at
her in Lipince, as they do at vagrants
and beggars; and yet the wish of her
soul was to be there once more; to live
near him, even if he spumed her.

When they had a fire and hunger was
not so near, she saw pictures of past
days in the glowing embers. She saw
herself, sitting at the spinning wheel
with other girls around her. Jan had
crept up behind and whispered into her
ear: "Marisha we will go the priest to-
gether, for thou art very dear to me."
And she had stopped her ears and
thrown her apron over her head in con-
fusion but listened to it all the same and
felt so lighthearted and happy. Another
time he had dragged her forth from the
corner where she was hidden and asked

62 For Daily Bread.

her to dance with him and she had
turned her head away and bade him go
away she felt so ashamed and bashful.
She had seen it all over and over again
in the crackling flames through eyes
dimmed with tears; now there was
neither fire nor tears, both had burned
out, but though her eyes were dry the
tears were burning deep down in her
heart. She felt very tired and very
weak; but she suffered patiently and
humbly, and there was an expression in
the large blue eyes like a dumb animal
that is tortured.

Thus she looked now sitting on the
straw. Somebdy moved the latch of
the door; she thought it was her father
and did not raise her head, then a rasp-
ing voice called out:

"Look here!"

It was the owner of the tumble-down
rookery they lived in; a mulatto' with
a dirty, scowling face, and a chew of
tobacco in his mouth.

At l^eyv York. 63

"When tlie girl saw who it was she
felt frightened. They owed him the
week's rent in advance and they had not
a cent. She thought humble entreaty
might prevail with the man. She ap-
proached him, and gently kissed his
hand.

"I have come for the dollar," he said.

She understood the word dollar, and
shook her head, and looking at him sup-
plicatingly, she tried to make him un-
derstand that they had no money left
and had had no food for nearly two
days.

"The good God will reward you," she
said in her own tongue, not knowing
what to do or what to say.

The mulatto only understood that no
dollar was forthcoming, and taking her
bundle with one hand and the girl with
the other he pushed her into the street,
throwing down her things beside her;
then with the same stolidity, he opened

64 For Daily Bread.

tlie door of the barroom close by, and
called out:

"Hi, Paddy! there is a room for you!"

"All right," responded a voice from
within, "I will come to-night."

Presently the mulatto disappeared
within the dark entrance and Marisha
remained standing alone in the street.
She placed her bundles into a sheltered
comer tO' keep them clean, and stood
close by them, humble and patient.

The passer&-by left her unmolested.
It had been dark in the room but the
street was still comparatively light and
in that light the girl's face looked pale
and warm as if she had risen from a
sick-bed. Tlie^ light flaxen hair was the
same, but the lips were pale; the eyes
sunken in and encircled with bluish
rings; the cheekbones very prominent.
She looked like a faded blossom, or a
girl in the last stages of consumption.
The passers-by looked compassionate-

At IS^ew York. 65

ly at her. An old negi-ess asked her a
few questions, but receiving no reply,
went on hea* way feeling offended.

In the meantime Laurence was on his
way back, full of that kindly feeling
which in very poor people is roused by
a manifest sign of God's providence.
He now had potatoes, he thought, and
they would eat. The next day he would
go out again to look after wagons; and
after that, well, he did not think fur-
ther ahead — he was too hungiy. When
he saw the girl standing on the pave-
ment he wondered and quickened his
steps.

"Why art thou standing in the
street?"

"The landlord has turned us out,
Dad."

"Turned us out?"

He stared at her in a helpless way;
the wood fell from his hands. This was
too much for him. To turn them out
5

66 For Daily Bread.

when he had found wood and potatoes.
He dashed his cap on the' pavement,
turned round and round, stared wildly
at the girl, and repeated:

''Turned us out into the street?"

Then he seemed to be going some-
where but turned back and asked in a
hoarse voice:

"Why didst not ask him to be patient,
stupid girl?"

"I did ask him," whispered Marisha.

"Didst embrace his knees and kiss his
hand?"

"I did. Daddy."

Laurence again turned round and
round like a trodden worm; everything
seemed to grow dark before his eyes.

"A curse upon thee, for a stupid
wench."

The girl looked mournfully at him.

"It was not my fault, Daddy."

"Stop here and do not budge, I will
go and ask him to let us, at least, roast
our potatoes."

At New York. 67

He went inside. In a few moments
voices were lieard, a stamping of feet,
and Laurence came flying out into the
street pushed eAadently hy a powerful
hand.

For a moment he stood still, then
turning to his daughter, he said ab-
ruptly: ''Let us go."

She stooped to pick up the bundles,
which were very heavy, but Laurence
did not offer any help or take any no-
tice that the girl was too weak to carry
them.

They started off. Two such misera-
ble being-s as the old man and his daugh-
ter would have attracted the attention
of any passer-by were they not so ac-
costumed to such sights of destitution.

The girl's breathing became more and
more difficult, she tottered on her feet
once, then twice, and at last, said en-
treateningly :

''Daddy! take the bundles, I cannot
carry them any longer."

68 For Daily Bread.

"Throw them away, then."
"But the things will be needed."
"They will not be needed."
Suddenly, seeing that she hesitated,
he exclaimed fiercely:

"Throw them down, or I will beat
thee."

This time, the girl frighte^ned by her
father's voice and fierce eyes, obeyed,
and he went on muttering to himself:

"It is fate, and there is nothing else
left."

Then he became silent, but his eyes
gleamed savagely. They crossed the
little streets, one dirtier than the other,
until they arrived near the dock, pass-
ing a building with the inscription:
"Sailors' Asylum." Marisha sat down
on a pile of lumber; because her feet
would carry her no longer and Lau-
rence sat beside her. The dock was
teeming with life and bustle. The
mist had cleared up and the wann sun-

At New York. 69

shine fell upon the two outcasts. From
the water came a crisp breeze; there was
light and color and ever varying motion
among the big ships which with their
canvass flnttering in the wind sailed into
the harbor. Other steamers churning
the water were leaving it.

They were going home, towards Li-
pince, thought Marisha, mournfully,
where they had left their happiness and
peace. How was it the Lord had for-
saken them, what had they done to de-
serve such punishment? It was in His
power to bring them back; so many
ships were going out, and they were
left behind among strangers.

The tired girl's thoughts were con-
tinually hovering about the village.

"Does he still think of me," she whis-
pered to herself, "does he remember."

She remembers, because only happi-
ness makes us forget, but solitude and
sorrow nukes us cling round the dear

70 For Daily Bread.

ones like the tendrils of the ivy round
the oak. Maybe he had forgotten the
old love and taken up with a new one?
Was it possible he could still think of
a poor lass who would bring him noth-
ing but her garland of rue, who had no
possessions, and whom only death alone
would WOO' now.

As she was ill, hunger did not trou-
ble her, but she felt very tired and
sleepy; she snut her eyes and the pale
face sank lower on her breast. She
dreamed she was wandering over preci-
pices and deep ravines like Kasia in the
ballad, who fell into the Dunajelz river;
she distinctly heard the lines of the
song:

" Jan saw her peril from the cliff above
And threw a silken cord towards his love.
The cord did not reach — too short by a bit
And Kasia tied her long tresses to it."

Here she started; it seemed to her she
had no tresses and was falling into space.

At New York. 71

The dream vanished. It was not Jan
who sat beside her, but Laurence, her
father. There was nO' river, only the
dock with its forest of masts, and fun-
nels. Some ships were leaving the pier,
and thence came the singing which had
mingled with her dream. A quiet,
balmy, spring evening spread a ruddy
glow on sky and water. The river was
without a ripple and e'vevj ship and
every pile stood clearly reflected in the
water. There seemed to be peace and
happiness spread everywhere^ — but be-
yond the reach of those two waifs; the
workmen were beginning to return to-
wards their homes, these two only had
nowhere to go.

Hunger with its iron claws began to
gnaw at Laurence's vitals. The peasant
sat there in gloomy silence, a fierce re-
solve depicted on his face. If anybody
had looked at him, he would have been
frightened at that despairingly quiet

72 For Daily Bread.

face with the expression of a rapacious
animal. He had not opened his lips to
the girl since he bade her throw down
the bundles; now he said in a strange
voice:

"Come, Marisha."

"Where are we going?"

"To the end of the pier, near the
water. We will lie down on the boards
and sleep."

Thej crossed the long, winding pier
until they reached the covered platform
where during the day the workmen had
been busy, but there was nobody there
now.

When they reached the furthest end
Laurence said:

"We will lie down here."

Marisha sunk down at once, and in
spite of the swarming mosquitoes, fell
into a heavy sleep.

Suddenly in the depth of night the
voice of Laurence awakened her.

At :N'ew York. 73

"Marisha, get up!"

There was something in the tone of
his voice which roused her instantly.

"What is it, Daddy?"

In the midst of the stilhiess the old
man's voice sounded hollow and ten-i-
bly quiet.

"Child! never more shalt thou suffer
from hunger. Thou shalt not beg thy
bread at the stranger's door nor sleep
under the open sky. People have aban-
doned us. God has forsaken us. There
is nothing for us but death. The water
is deep and thou wilt not suffer much."

She could not see his face in the dark-
ness, but her eyes dilated with terror.

"I will drown thee, poor lassie, and
then drown myself," he continued in
that same dull, even voice. "There is
neither help nor mercy for us. To-
morrow thou wilt not be hungry; to-
morrow thou wilt be happier than to-
day."

74 For Daily Bread.

"Oh, no." she did not wish to die;
she was only eighteen and clung to life
and was afraid of death. Her very soul
recoiled from the thought that her body
should lie at the bottom of the sea
among fishes and reptiles. A great ter-
ror and aversion shook her whole frame,
and her own father speaking thus in the
darkness, seemed an evil spirit.

Both his hands were resting on her
thin shoulders, and still in that same
unnaturally quiet voice, he went on:

"If thou shoutest nobody will hear it;
I have only to push thee, and it is all
over."

"I will not die, Daddy, I will not,"
cried out Marisha. "Have you no fear
of God? Daddy, my own Daddy, have
mercy on me! Did I ever complain of
anything, did I not patiently suffer cold
and hunger with you?"

His breath came quicker and quicker
and his hands held her as in a vice; she
still prayed to him despairingly.

At New York. 75

"Have mercy, I am your child. Poor
and weak, and not long to live; but I
will not die, I am afraid."

She clutched his garments and kissed
the hands that tried to push her into
the dark space. But all this seemed to
excite the old man still more. His un-
natural quietness gave way to frenzy
and he began to snort and pant like a
wild beast.

The night was dark and still, nobody
could hear them because they were at
that part of the pier where even in the ,
daytime none except workmen ever
come.

''Help! help!" screamed Marisha.

He dragged her violently with one
hand to the brink, while beating her on
the head with the other to smother her
cries.

But the cries did not rouse any echo;
a dog only barked in the distance. The
girl was growing faint; the piece of gar-

76 For Daily Bread.

ment bhe clutclaed unconsciously remain-
ed in her hand and Marisha was sensible
she was falling.

In her fall she grasped at a beam and
remained hanging over the water.

The peasant leaned over, and horrible
tO' say, tried to unloosen her hands.

At this moment like a flash of light-
ning she saw before her the short Past:
Lipince, the well with the long crane,
then the voyage, the terrible storm,
when they said the litany together, and
their miserable life at New York. But
what is this she sees: A great ship is
coming towards her, nearer and nearer,
there is a great crowd of people and
among them stands Jan with out-
stretched arms and above the ship the
Holy Virgin, smiling at her in heavenly
glory. Oh, Holy Mother! Jan, my
Jan I Daddy!" she cries out, 'there is
the Mother of God! The Holy Virgin!"

A moment more and the same hands

At I^ew York. 77

that pushed her ruthlessly over the brink
grasp her arms and with superhuman
strength drag her upon the pier. Again
she feels the boards under her feet, two
anns infold her, they are not those of
the excutioner, but of the loving father,
and her head sinks on his breast.

When she recovered from her swoon
she saw herself lying quietly near her
father; though it was dark, she could
see he was lying on his face, both arms
spread out in the form of a. cross, and
his whole frame shaking with convul-
sive sobs: "Marisha," he said in broken
tones. "Marisha, my child, forgive."

The girl searched in the dark for his
hand and covered it with kisses.

"Daddy, may the Lord Jesus forgive
you, as I do."

From a silvery cloud which shone on
the horizon came out the bright moon,
^nd oh, wonder! Marisha saw crowds of
silveivwinged angels, gliding along the

78 For Daily Bread.

moonbeams towards her; they fanned
her face, singing in sweet, childish
voices :

" Peace be with thee, poor tired, child 1
Storm-tossed, battered birdie, peace
be with thee ! little field-flower, so
patient and quiet, rest in peace I"

Singing thus they scattered lilies and
rose leaves over her and little silver bells
chimed in:

" Kest, poor girl ! sleep — sleep in peace."

And she felt well, bright and peace-
ful and fell off to sleep.

The night faded and early dawn whit-
ened the water. Masts and funnels
seemed to emerge from the shadow and
come nearer. Laurence knelt down
bending over his daughter.

He thought she was dead. Her
slender form was motionless; her face
was very pale, and the closed eyes were
surrounded by a bluish tint. He shook

At New York. 79

her arm but she neither moved nor
opened her eyes. Laurence felt as if
he, too, were dying; but putting his
hand close to her mouth he felt the
faintest flutter of a breath. Her heart
was beating though very feebly, and he
thought it might stop any moment. If
there came a warm sun from out of the
morning mist she may wake up, he
thought.

The seagulls circled overhead as if
they too were taking an interest in this
himian tragedy. The mist gradually
dissolved under the breath of a westerly
wind which brought with it warmth and
sweetness.

Then rose the sun. The rays fell first
on the top of the scaffolding at the end
of the pier, then going lower touched
Marisha's lifeless face. With the light
around her the sweet patient face sur-
rounded by the flaxen hair which had
become unloosened in the struggle look-

80 For Daily Bread.

ed like that of a saint or an angel; for
Marisha thought her sufferings and pa-
tient endurance had almost reached the
martyr's palm.

A rosy, delightful day rose from the
water, the sun gTew more powerful and
a gentle wind caressed the maiden's face.
The seagulls whirled and circled over-
head screaming as if they wanted to
awaken her. Laurence took off his long
coat and spread it over his daughter's
feet.

Gradually the bluish tint vanished
from her face and the anxiously watch-
ing father saw a faint touch of color
mounting to the cheeks, she smiled once,
and twice, at last opened her eyes.

Then the old man knelt do^vn on the
planks, raised his eyes to heaven, and
heavy tears ran down his furrowed face.

He felt now that from henceforth the
child was as the apple of his eye, the
soul of his soul, a thing holy and be-
loved above everything: on earth.

At Xew York. 81

Marisha not only woke np but she felt
better and more refreshed than she had
done for some time past. The pure air
of the harbor had filled her lungs poi-
soned by the foul vapor of her narrow
lodgings. She had indeed come back
to life again, for she sat up and called
out:

"Daddy! I am very hungTy."

"Come, little daughter," said the old
man, "we will go to the other end of
the pier and find something to eat."

She rose without much effort, and fol-
lowed him. This day was evidently to
be a turning point in their fortunes for
scarcely had they gone a few steps when
they saw lying between two beams a red
handkerchief tied up in a bundle, which
on examination was found to contain
some bread and meat, and a piece of
pudding. Who had put it there? A
laborer most likely who had eaten only
a portion of his lunch yesterday. They
G

82 For Daily Bread.

often do. Lavirence and Marisha ex-
plained it in their own simple way.
Who had put it there? He, who re-
members and feeds the sparrows on the
roof and the flowers in the field.

God!

They said a short prayer and ate what
they found; it was not Yercjf much for
two hungry people, but they felt re-
freshed and strengthened, and went
along the water front towards the larger
docks. Reaching the Emigrant Office,
they turned into Water street. With a
rest now and then it took them several
hours to accomplish the journey. Why
they went in this particular direction
they did not know themselves, but Ma-
risha fancied going that way. On their
way they met a number of carts and
wagons going towards the water front.
Water street was full of life and motion.
People were coming in all directions
from their dwellings, and hurrying to

At New York. 83

their offices, and places of business. In
one of the open doors stood a grey-haired
gentleman, with long moustaches, with
a young lad by his side. He stepped
out, looked at the two wanderers, his
moustaches twitched, and an expression
of deep astonishment appeared on his
face; he came a little nearer, looked
again, and then smiled.

A human being smiling at them in
New York was something so wonderful,
nay miraculous, that both Laurence and
his daughter were astonished.

The old gentleman approached them,
and addressed them in their own tongue :

''Where do you come from, good peo-
ple?"

If a thunderbolt had fallen from the
pure sky they would not have been more
taken aback. Laurence grew as wdiite
as a sheet and reeled on his feet; una-
able to believe his ears. Marisha re-
covered first, and falling to the old

84 For Daily Bread.

man's knees, which she embraced, ex-
claimed:

"We come from Posen, Gracious
Pan!"

"And what are you doing here?"

"Nothing, gracious Pan, but suffering
hunger and misery." Her voice failed,
and Laurence having shaken off his be-
wilderment, fell at the old gentleman's
feet, clutched at the lappels of his coat,
kissed them raptuously and thought he
clutched at a bit of heaven. •

It's our own Pan, our master," he
gasped out. "He will not let us die
of hunger, he will protect us and save
us from evil."

The young lad who was with the
elderly man opened his eyes in undis-
guised astonishment; people began to
crowd around them to see one man
kneeling before another, kissing his feet,
a thing unheard of in America. Tlie
gentleman grew red, and evidently an-

At ^^ew York. 85

gry, and tnreed sharply on the by-
standers:

"What are you staring at? It's none
of your business," and theu turning to
Laurence and Marisha, he said:

"We cannot stand here in the street,
come with me.*"

They followed him to the nearest res-
taurant, and there he went with them
into a private room. Here the two
peasants again begun to embrace his
knees but he waived them off and mut-
tered in grumpy tones:

"There, there, have done with your
foolishness! We come from the same
country, and are children of the same
mother."

The smoke of his cigar seemed to
have got into his eyes because he rubbed
them vigorously with his fist, then asked:

"Are you hungry?"

"We have eaten nothing for two days,

86 For Daily Bread.

but what we found to-day near the
water."

"William," said he addressing the lad,
"order some lunch to be brought in
here." Then he asked again:

"Where do you live?"

"ISTowhere, illustrious Pan."

"Where did you sleep?"

"On the pier."

"Did you get turned out of your lodg-
ings?"

"We did."

"Have you no things, nothing but
what you stand in?"

"We have not."

"And no money?"

"Xone."

"And what do you intend doing?''

"We do not know."

The old gentleman put further ques-
tions in a sharp, quick tone; then sud-
denly turning towards Marisha, he said
in a gentle voice:

At New York. 87

"How old i.re you, child?"

"I shall be eighteen next Michaelmas,
please. Sir."

"And you have suffered a great deal?"

Instead of answering, Marisha bent
humbly down to his knees; upon which
the old gentleman took tO' rubbing his
eyes again — the smoke evidently an-
noyed him.

A dish of hot meat and some beer
was brought in. He told them tO' sit
down and eat, at which they demurred,
saying they dared not do so in his pres-
ence. He became angiy again, and
called them a couple of fools, but in
spite of all his impatient manner he
seemed to them a very angel from
heaven.

His face beamed with satisfaction
when he saw them making a hearty
meal. After they had finished he asked
them to tell him how they had come
here and all that had happened to them.

88 For Dailj Bread.

Laurence told him everytliing as if he
had been in the confessional, he had
tried to drown his child; the old gen-
tleman jumped up in a terrible rage,
and fairly shouted:

"I could flay you alive for that."
Then turning to Marisha, he said:
"Come here, child."
When she approached he took her
head in both his hands and kissed her
on the forehead.

After a short and thoughtful pause
he said:

"You have undergone great suffering
and privation. Nevertheless it is a good
country for those who know how to shift
for themselves."

Laurence opened his eyes in silent
amazement: this good and wise gentle-
man called America a good countr\^

"Yes, you blockhead," he said, seeing
Laurence's astonishment, "it is a crood
country. I came here with empty pock-

At New York. 89

ets and have now a good income. But
yon peasants have no business to come
out here, you ought to stick to your land,
if you leava the country who is to re-
main there. You cannot do much here.
It is easy enough to come but very diffi-
cult to get home again."

He remained silent a few minutes,
and then said, as if tO' himself: "It's
forty years since I came here, time al-
most to have forgotten the old home;
but the longing for it comes back now
and then. William must go there
and get acquainted with his father's
country."

"This is my son," he said, pointing
to the lad.

"William you will bring me from
thence a handful of soil to put under my
head in the coffin."

"Yes, father," replied the lad, in Eng-
lish.

"And upon the breast, William, upon
the breast."

90 For Daily Bread.

"Yes, father."

The smoke of the cigar seemed to
have got into his eyes again, so that they
were suffused with tears. He shook
himself and said gruffly:

"The rascal understands Polish well
enough, but prefers to speak English.
Such is fate. Where the sapling is
transplanted there it grows. "William,
go and tell your sister that we have
guests for dinner and for the night."

The lad jumped up quickly, and went
out to do his bidding.

The old gentleman sat silent e^ddently
lost in meditation, then spoke as if to
himself:

"If I were to send them home it would
cost a great deal, and they have nothing
to go back to. Sold their property and
all their sticks, nothing but a beggar's
life to await them there. To send the
girl into service, the Lord knows what
might become of her. Since they are

At New York. 91

here they might as well try to work.
I will send them to a settlement, the
girl will get married at once. They will
earn some money, and can go back if
they wish to, and take the old man with
them."

Then he turned to Laurence:

"Did you hear about our settlements
here?"

"No, gracious Pan, I have heard noth-
ing."

"Oh, people, how can you come here
not knowing where to turn; no wonder
you cam© near perishing miserably. In
Chicago there are twenty thousand like
you; in Milwaukee as many; in Detroit
and Buffalo a great number. They work
mostly in factories, but the peasant loves
the soil best. I might send you to Ra-
dom, in Illinois, h'm! but land is more
difficult to obtain there. They are build-
ing a new Posen in the prairies at Ne-
braska, but that is too far, and the rail-

92 For Daily Bread.

road fare is too much. St. Mary's in
Texas is also too far. Barovina would
be the best, especially, as I can get you
free passes, and what money I give you,
you can keep for other purposes.

He thought again, deeply.

"Listen to me, old man," he said sud-
denly. "They are opening a new settle-
ment called Borovina, in Arkansas. It
is a beautiful country, good climate and
you can obtain one hundred and sixty
acres, or more, of good woodland by
making a. small payment tO' the railway
company. Do you understand^ I will
give you some money to start with, be-
sides the railway tickets ; these will take
you to Little Rock, and from there you
go by wagon. You will find many
others therei bound for the settlement.
I shall provide you with letters of in-
troduction. I will do for you what I
can, because we are children of the same
mother, but I am more sorry for your

At New York. 93

daiigliter than for you. Do you under-
stand?" Then his voice grew soft and
tender.

"Now listen, child," he said to Ma-
risha," take my card, and do not lose
it. If ever you are in need of a friend,
come straight to me and I will protect
you. If I should not be alive, William
will help you. Do not lose the address,
and now, come with me."

On the way he bought for them a
change of clothes and some linen, and
then took them to his house. They
were all good people there. William
and his sister Jenny made them as wel-
come as if they had been relatives.
William treated Marisha as if she were
a lady, to the great confusion of the
simple girl. In the evening some young
girls, prettily dressed, with fringes on
their foreheads came to see Jenny. They
took Marisha among them, wondered at
h.er pale face and beautiful flaxen hair

94 For Daily Bread.

and laughed at lier timid ways and her
wanting to kiss their hands. The mas-
ter of the house walked to and fro among
them, shook his white head. Sometimes
muttering to himself, addressing the
company either in Polish or English ; he
talked about the far off country to Ma-
risha and Laurence, dwelt upon stories
of the past, and the smoke of his cigar
seemed to trouble his eyes for he wiped
them frequently.

When they retired for the night, Ma-
risha was deeply moved, seeing that
Jenny with her own hands prepared the
bed she, Marisha was to sleep upon. Oh,
how good they were! But it was not
astonishing after all, did not the gen-
tleman come from the same part of the
country ?

The third day Laurence and his
daughter were on their way to Little
Rock. The peasant felt his one hun-
dred dollars in his pocket, and his past

At New York. 95

sufferings seemed to liim a dream; and
this was real life at last. Marisha pon-
dered over tlie wonderful ways of Provi-
dence and tliought that He who had
saved them from such misery would fur-
ther protect them, bring Jan out to her,
and allow them to go back to Lipince.
Towns and farms seemed to fly past
.them. How different it was from New
York. There were fields and woods as
far as the eye could see, houses sur-
rounded by trees, large tracts of waving
cornfields, just as it was at home. At
the sight of this Laurence's chest ex-
panded and he felt inclined to shout
and sing for joy. On the meadows
herds of cattle and sheep were grazing;
on the verge of the wood, men were
busy plying their axes. The train went
further and further, and the country
gradually became less settled. The
famis disappeared and the large, soli-
tary prairie met their eyes. The w^ind

96 For Daily Bread.

moved the tall grasses and wild flowers.
Here and there like a golden ribbon
twisted in and out, appeared an aban-
doned car track now covered with yel-
low flowers. The feathery heads of
grasses, mullein, and thistles seemed to
nod in welcome to the wanderers.
Hawks hung motionless in mid air look-
ing down on the prairie. The train
rushed on as if it wanted to follow the
prairie where it lost itself in the distant
horizon.

From the windows flocks of hares and
prairie dogs could be seen; sometimes
the antlered head of a deer was seen
above the grasses. Nowhere, either
towns, churches, farms, or houses; only
stations between the stations, not a liv-
ing soul. Laurence looked and looked
and could not understand how it was so
much good soil remained uncultivated.

A day and a night passedTin that way.
In the morning they found themselvea

At New York. 97

in the woods. The thick trees with
vines and creepers twisted across their
branches, made a green, almost impene-
trable wall on either side. Strange
birds were now and then flitting in and
out the luxuriant vegetation. Laurence
and Marisha. fancied they saw among
the thicket strange riders with feathered
headgear and faces like burnished cop-
per. Seeing these vast prairies and in
penetrable Avoods in succession passing
before their eyes, Laurence would now
and then ejaculate:

"Marisha!"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Isn't it all wonderful?"

They at last crossed a river which
seemed to them immense. Later on
they were told it was the Mississippi;
and late at night they arrived at Little
Rock.

Here they were to ask their way to
Borovina.
7

98 For Daily Bread.

We will leave them here. The sec-
ond part of their wanderings is finished.
The third will take place amid the noise
of the axe, and the heavy work of the
settlement. Whether there is to be less
suffering, fewer tears, and less ill-fate,
time will show.

15!.
THE NEW SETTLEMENT.

Wtat was Borovina. A settlement
in embryo. The name had been fixed
npon, that was the main thing; as a
name implies an existing fact and in-
spires confidence. Polish and American
ncAvspapers published in ISTew York,
Chicago, Buffalo, Detroit, Denver, and
Milwaukee, in fact wherever the Polish
tongue was heard, proclaimed urhi et
orhi generally, and especially to the
Polish settlers, that if they wished to
enjoy good health, to become rich, and
live on the fat of the land, and, maybe
afterwards, save their souls, they should
buy farms in that earthly paradise, Bo-
rovina. These announcements further
stated that Arkansas, where the new

settlement was to start into life, was as
99

100 For Daily Bread.

jet sparsely settled, althoiigli the cli-
mate was most salubrious. It was true
that the City of Memphis, situated on
the opposite shore of the Mississippi, was
a very hotbed of yellow fever; but it
was a well-known fact that fever could
not cross a broad river like the Missis-
sippi ; besides the Choctaws would make
short work of it, as the fever trembles
at the sight of a redskin. In conse-
quence of these combinations the set-
tlers of Borovina would have the fever
district on the East, redskins on the
West, they themselves living in a per-
fectly neutral zone.

In a few hundred years Borovina
would boast of a vast population and the
ground which now sold for a dollar and
a half an acre would fetch a thousand
dollars a square yard for building pur-
poses.

To those who were alarmed at the
proximity of Choctaws the announce-

The New Settlement. 101

ment stated that these noble savages
were full of friendly feeling towards
their white neighbors, especially if they
were Poles and that their mutual rela-
tions would be of the friendliest; besides
railways, and telegraph poles were sure
to frighten them away, and their disap-
pearance would be only a question of
time.

The ground had been acquired by a
railway company which would assure
the settlers with an outlet for their pro-
duce and easy communication with the
world. The announcements neglected
to state the fact that the line was only
a projected one, and was to be erected
at some future time from the sale of the
land given by the government to the
railway company. To Borovina it made
this little difference, that instead of be-
ing on a direct line it was situated in
a howling wilderness that could only be
reached by wagons, and with great diffi-
culty.

102 For Daily Bread.

This was a temporary inconvenience,
a little disappointing for the settlers it
is true, but one which would disappear
in time as soon as the line was opened.
Besides advertisements are not to be
taken for gos2>el truth, and as plants
transplanted to America soil grow into
luxuriant leafage at the expense of its
fruit, so also American advertisements
spring up full blown and it is difficult
to pick out the grain of truth from the
rhetorical chaff. Putting aside how-
ever the humbug and puffing up of the
settlement one might think it would be
no worse than thousands of others whose
beginning was the same and which had
been praised with no less exaggeration.

The conditions from many points of
view seemed favorable, therefore a great
many people, spread over the States,
from the great lakes to Florida, and
from the Atlantic to the shores of Cali-
fornia, applied for farms. Poles from

The New Se^lement. 103

Prussia, Poles from Galicia, Masurs
from the plains of Warsaw, all those
that worked in the factories of Chicago
and Milwaukee and had sighed in vain
for the life which is the peasant's in-
heritance snatched eagerly at the oppor-
tunity to get back from smoke begrimed
cities tO' the plough. Those who felt too
hot at St. Mary's in Texas, too cold in
Minnesota, too damp in Detroit or hun-
gry at Radom, in Illinois were eager
for a change and a few hundred people
with a fair sprinkling of women and
children started for Arkansas. They
were not deterred by the tales of the
lawlessness of the countiy infested with
Indians, outlaws hiding from justice,
rough squatters who despite the govern-
ment's prohibition were cutting down
timber along the Red River, and the
terrible fights that were going on be^
tween the white and Indian buffalo
huntere. The Masiir, if he has his

104 For Daily Bread.

knotty stick and feels another brother
Masur at his back, is not afraid of any-
thing. They are clannish these Masurs
from the Warsaw plains; like to be
within reach of each other; and work
or fight together shoulder to shoulder.

The gathering point for Borovina was
the town of Little Rock. From Little
Rock to Clarksville, the nearest settle-
ment to Borovina, is a great distance;
and their way lay through a wild and
desolate country, heavy woods, and
swollen rivers. The few who had
started out alone were never heard of
again, but the main body arrived with-
out mishap and were now camping out
in the woods.

To say the truth they had been very
much disappointed when they arrived
on the spot. Expecting arable land and
woods they had found nothing but a
thick almost impenetrable forest which
had to be cleared before the plough

The New Settlement. 105

could be used. Black oaks, redwood,
Cottonwood, and gloomy hickory trees,
with vines and creepers as thick as cables
twisting in and out, and chapparal un-
derneath formed a solid green wall.
Those who penetrated further did not
see the sky above. They had to feel
their way in the surrounding gloom and
were in danger of losing their way and
perishing in the wilderness.

One and another of the Masur lads
looked at their fists, then at the huge
trees,; several yards in circumference,
and felt disheartened. It is well to
have plenty of timber wherewith to
build houses but to clear hundreds of
acres before the plough could be used
was a work of years.

But there was nothing else to be done;
therefore on the second day after their
arrival, some grasped the axe, crossed
themselves, spat on their hands, and with
a groan fell to work and from that time

106 For Daily Bread.

on the sound of the axe often accom-
panied by songs re-echoed in the woods
of Arkansas.

The camp had been erected on a
clearing near the river on the brink of
which the future settlement was to be
erected, with a school and church in the
middle, the houses and cabins around
them in a large square. In the mean-
while there stood the wagons forming
a triangle to be used as a fortress in case
of attack. Beyond the wagons grazed
the mules, horses, cows, oxen and sheep
under the' care of young men armed
with rifles. The women slept in the
wagons and the men round the camp
fires.

During the day only women and
children stayed in the camp, the men
being busy in the woods. At night
wild beasts — jaguars, wolves and coy-
otes came from the thicket. The ter-
rible grizzly bears which are less afraid

The :N'ew Cettlement. 107

of fire came now and then close to the
wagons, consequently shots were often
heard in the dead of night, and shouts:
"Shoot straight at the beast." The men
who came from the wilder part of Texas
were mostly skilled hunters and pro-
vided themselves and their families with
fresh meat from antelopes, stags, and
buffalos, which were abundant in the
spring when these animals draw towards
the north. The other settlers lived on
provisions brought with them from Lit-
tle Rock: Indian meal and salt pork;
beside this they killed sheep, of which
nearly every family had brought a num-
ber.

In the evenings they congregated
round the blazing camp fire, and the
young people would dance instead of
lying down to sleep. A settler who had
brought his violin played the national
dances: Obertas, Masur, and Krakoviak,
and when the sound of the violin lost

108 For Daily Bread.

itself among tlie rustling of the forest,
others helped it out by jingling tin
plat-es. Time passed quickly enough
amid hard work, all the harder because
it was done without a system. The first
thing was to build some kind of shelter,
and in a short time a few log cabins,
covered with bark were dotted about on
the green sward. Cottonwood is easy
to work but they had to go a long dis-
tance for it. Others built temporary-
dwellings from the canvass stripped
from their wagons. Some younger men
tired of felling trees began using the
plough in places where the trees had
been cleared and for the first time the
shouts of the ploughmen were heard in
the wilds of Arkansas.

Taken altogether there was such a
vast amount of work to be done, that
the settlers did not know where to put
their hands to first; whether to build
cabins, clear the forest or go hunting

The Xew Settlement 109

for supplies of venison. One thing was
clear from the beginning: the settlers'
agent had bought the land from the
company on faith, ^vithout taking the
trouble to examine it, Othenvise he
could as easily have acquired a tract of
prairie land only partially wooded. He
and the railway agent had come to the
spot in order to survey the land and
parcel out the different claims, but see-
ing the state of things they remained
two days, quarelled, and then under pre-
text of going for the surveying tools
went back to Clarksville and never
showed themselves at the settlement
again.

It soon leaked out that some of the
settlers had paid a great deal more than
others, and what was worse nobody knew
where his allotment lay or how to sun^ey
it if they could locate it. The settlers
had no leader or manager or any one
who was capable of adjusting their differ-
ences.

110 For Daily Bread.

Germans no donbt would have con-
centrated their united strength in clear-
ing the woodsj building cabins, and after
that, parcel out the claims. But each
Masur wanted to work at once upon his
own property, build his cabin, and pre-
pare his own soil. Every one wanted
land close to the river where the trees
were fewer and water nearest. Conten-
tions arose which grew into quarrels and
free fights from the day when a certain
Mr. Griinmanski made his appearance.
This gentleman, who seemed to have
dropped from the clouds, came from
Cincinnati, where the Germans settled;
there he was known as plain Griinman,
but he added the "ski" to his honest
German name for business purposes.

His wagon had a high canvass roof
where on either side in big black letters
stood the name: "Saloon," and under-
neath in smaller type: Brandy, Whisky,
Gin. How he had managed to cross

The New Settlement. Ill

the wild, lawless region between Clarks-
ville and Borovina witliout having been
attasked by thieves or scalped by In-
dians (who in small detachments often
roam about the very neighborhood of
Clarksville) was his secret; enough that
the first day he showed himself at the
settlement he did a good business. On
that vevy same day the settlei^ began
to quarrel. To their various differences
about claims, implements, or places near
the fire, came other more trifling
grounds for disagreeing. The men be-
came affected with pro^'incial patriot-
ism. Those that came from the Xorih-
ern States, praised their coimtry at the
expense of those from the South, Loud
and angiy voices in that American-Po-
lish idiom where their own mother
tongue had adopted local expressions,
were heard in the camp.

Quarrels became more virulent. It
came to fights where those coming from

112 For Daily Bread.

the same town or settlement stood by
each other against those who came from
other parts. It was a bad lookout for
the little community who verily were
like a flock of sheep without a shep-
herd. But gradually, and by degrees,
the more eixperienced and wiser mem-
bers of the party acquired a certain in-
fluence and authority and tried to main-
tain order. In moments of danger their
common instinct of preservation made
them forget private rancor. Once when
a. party of Indians had captured some
dozen of their sheep, the lads moved
by one thought rushed after them, re-
covered their property, and killed one
of the Indians. That day the greatest
harmony reigned in the camp, but the
next day saw them wrangling again at
the clearings. There was also peace
and harmony when the musician began
to play their national songs, the melo-
dies they had heard under the thatched.

The New Settlement. 113

roofs at home. All conversation ceased,
no sound was heard but the voice of the
violin which spoke to them of the far
off country, the soughing of the wind
in the forest trees, and the crackling of
the camp fire. With earnest, thought-
ful faces, they stood around the musi-
cian, listening still, though the moon
had already risen high above the trees.
But with the exception of these peaceful
intervals the common bonds of brother-
hood were getting weaker every day.
This small community, thrown upon
their own resources without a leader,
did not know how to shift for itself.

Among the settlers we find our for-
mer friends Laurence Toporek and his
daughter Marisha, who shared the life
of the settlers. At the beginning it
seeme-d tO' tliem a welcome change from
the hard pavements of New York to the
woods of Arkansas. There they had
nothing they could call their ov^ti; here

114 For Daily Bread.

they had their own wagon, some im-
plements and live stock bought at
Clarksville. Homesickness tormented
them less among their own people, and
the heavy work did not permit them to
think much beyond of the day. The
old man was cutting trees from mom-
ing till night, and preparing timber for
his cabin. Marisha was busy washing
clothes, lighting fires, and preparing
their meals. The exercise and open
air life had effaced all traces of her ill-
ness, and her formerly pale face ex-
posed now to the hot winds blowang
from Texas was tinged with a golden
brown. The lads from Saint Antonio
and the Lakes, who on the slightest
provocation squared their fists at each
other, agreed in one thing: that Ma-
risha's eyes looking out from under her
silky hair were like com flowers in a
wheat field, and she the prettiest girl
human eyes had ever beheld.

The New Settlement. 115

Laurence derived much benefit from
his daiigh]ter's beauty. He chose for
himself the best piece of land and no-
body said him nay because all the lads
were on his side. Many of them helped
him to prepare the timber and stack it,
and the old man who was shrewd and
saw what they were aiming at, from
time to time threw out a hint:

"My little daughter," he said, "is like
a lily of the fields, a very jewel of a
girl. Some day I will choose a husband
for her from among the lads that help
me most and please me best; but he
must be a decent lad ];)ecause she comes
from a decent family that owned their
own lands in the old country.

Everyone who helped him thought
he was furthering his suit. Consequent-
ly Laurence was better off than many
others and everything would have been
well with him had there been any future
for the settlement.

116 Tor Daily Bread.

But things grew worse instead of bet-
ter. The axe still sounded in the for-
est and here and there rose the yellow
logs of a cabin but it was but as a drop
of water in the ocean. The dark, im-
penetrable wall of the forest still loomed
up before them showing scarcely any
sign of being broken.

Tliose who had penetrated a little
further into the thicket, reported that
the forest had no limit, that awful
swamps and bayous, and still, stagnant
waters, full of strange creatures had im-
peded their march, they had heard the
hissing of the serpents and strange
voices calling out in warning: "Do not
go further." Uncanny shrubs stretch-
ing out their branches had clutched
them by their garments. A lad from
Chicago swore he had seen the devil
raising his hairy head from a swamp and
snorting at him so fiercely that he ran
for dear life back to the camp. The

The New Settlement. 117

men from Texas laughed at him, and
said it must have been a buffalo he had
seen, but nothing could shake his belief
that it was the evil one himself that
appeared to him. Superstition added
new terrors tO' their already doleful
plight. A few days later two bolder
lads ventured upon another exploration
of the woods and were never heard of
again.

People began to sicken from over-
work and fever. Quarrels and conten-
tions grew fiercer; cattle which had not
been marked by their owners was claim-
ed by those who had no' right to them.
At last the camp broke up altogether
and the different parties shifted their
wagons as far as possible from each
other. It became evident that their
provisions would give out and hunger
stare them in the face long before any-
thing could be expected from the soil.
Despair got hold of the people. The

118 For Daily Bread.

sound of the axe grew fainter because
patience and courage were lacking; but
even now they would have worked if
anybody had told them "this is your un-
disputed property." As it was, nobody
knew which was his and which was his
neighbor's. They began to see that
nothing was left for them, but to perish
in the wilderness. Those who still had
some money left took their wagons and
went back to Clarksville. But the
greater portion of the people had sunk
eveiy penny they possessed in this ven-
ture and had nothing left with which
to retum. These wrung their hands in
bitter despair. The axes were at last
thrown asid^ and the forest rustled as
if mocking at the insignificance of hu-
man efforts.

"We might go on cutting trees for
two years and then die of hunger," said
one peasant to another.

One evening Laurence came to Ma-
risha, and said:

The New Settlement. 119

"It is clear tliat starvation is before
us, we shall perish with the others."

"God's will be done," replied the girl.
"He has shown us mercy before and will
not desert us now."

Saying this she raised her blue eyes
to the starlit heaven, and with the re-
flection of the fire surrounding her fair
head as with a halo she looked the pic-
ture of a sweet saint.

The lads from Chicago and hunters
from Texas called out:

"Marisha, our sunli2,lit, we will stand
by you."

She thought within herself that there
was one only with whom she would go
to the end of the world: Jan, from Li-
pince. He had promised to swim across
the water like a drake, to fly through
the air on wings, and roll along the road
like a golden ring; but he had not come,
the only one she cared for had forgotten
her.

120 For Dailj Bread.

Marisha liad noticed long ago that the
settlement was doomed, but her trust
in Providence remained unshaken, and
her soul purified in the fire^ of adversity
shone serene and calm through her lim-
pid eyes.

Beside she remembered the old gen-
tleman at 'New York who had helped
them before and promised to help again
if they needed it.

In the meanwhile the confusion in
the camp grew from bad to worse.
People escaped from it in the night-
time, and what became of them it 'was
difficult to say. And still around them
the forest rustled and waved its trees
and branches mocking at their helplessr
ness.

Old Laurence fell ill from overstrain-
ing his muscles. He felt pains in his
back and all his limbs. For two days
he said nothing about it, the third day
he could not rise from his improvised

The New Settlement. 121

bed, Marisha went to the woods, gath-
ered a quantity of moss and prepared
for him a bed on the timber rafters
which he had put together for the erec-
tion of their cabin; then set herself to
concocting a cordial from various herbs
and spirit.

"Marisha," murmured the old man,
"death is creeping towards me from yon
black forest and thou wilt remain an
orphan alone in the world. God is now
punishing me for my heavy sins in
bringing you out here, and my last hours
will be full of anguish."

'T)addy," replied the girl, "It was my
bounden duty to go with you, I would
not have let you come alone."

"If I left thee with a protector and
saw thee married I could die easier.
Marisha! take Black Orlik for thy hus-
l^nd, he is a good lad and will take care
of thee."

Black Orlik, the great hunter from

122 For Daily Bread.

Texas, who heard this fell on his knees
before the sick man, and spoke up:

"Your blessing, father! I love the lasg
more than my life. The woods and I
are old friends, and I will not let her
come to harm."

Saying this he looked out of his fal-
con eyes at the girl, but she sank down
at the old man's feet.

"Do not force me. Daddy, I must re-
main faithful to him I promised."

"You will never be his, because I
shall kill him. You must b© mine or
nobody's," replied Black Orlik. "They
all will perish here and you will perish
also unless I save you."

Black Orlik was right. The utter
destruction of the settlement was merely
a question of time. They had already
begun to slay the cattle bought for till-
ing the soil. Fever became more fre-
quent; people either cursed or cried out
to heaven in a loud voice. One Sun-

The New Settlement. 123

day all the men, women and children
knelt down together and there rose a
chorus of monrful voices:

"O Lord, have mercy upon us! O
Lord, save and deliver us from evil."

The voices often broken by sobs rose
to the canopy of heaven and the forest
mumiured and rustled "I am King here,
I am Master, I am the stronger."

But Orlik, who knew the woods, look-
ed up with gleaming eyes as if measur-
ing his strength with that impenetrable
wall, and then said aloud:

"We will have a hand to hand tussle
by and by."

The men looked at Orlik with aston-
ishment. Those who had known him
in Texas believed in him implicitly, be-
cause he was a great hunter, famous
even among the Texas hunters. He
was powerfully built and would engage
a grizzly single handed. At Saint An-
tonio, where he had formerly lived,

124 For Daily Bread.

they knew that when he took his rifle,
he might often disappear for months
together, but always came back un-
harmed and in excellent condition.
They called him Black Orlik from his
tanned complexion. Some said that at
a time he was one of a band of pirates
but that was not true. He brought
skins from the woods, sometimes Indian
scalps, until the priest threatened him
with excommunication. Now he was
almost the only one in Borovina who
did not care what happened. He was
not troubled about the future. The
woods gave him food, shelter, and cloth-
ing. When the people began to desert
the place he took things into his own
hands and in this he was backed up by
the lads from Texas. "When after the
public prayers he was challenging the
forest, people thought he must have a
new scheme in hand and began to grow
less despondent.

The New Settlement. 125

The sun had set. High up, between
the branches of the dark hickory trees
gleamed a yellow light which gradually
changed into red and then disappeared.
There was a strong wind blowing from
the South, when at dusk Orlik seized
his rifle and went into the woods.

The night was very dark when the
people in the camp saw something like a
great shining star rising in the distance
above the forest; then appeared a sec-
ond, a third, which increased in volume,
spreading all round a red, glaring light.

"The forest is on fire ! the forest is on
fire!" shouted the terrified spectators.

Great flocks of birds rose screaming
and chattering from the thickets. The
cattle began lowing mournfully, the
dogs howled, and people panic stricken
rushed aimlessly about in fear less the
flames might reach the camp. The con-
flagration spread rapidly, the flames
diffused themselves like water running

126 For Daily Bread.

along the dead creepers. The wind tore
off the burning leaves and carried them
along like so many fiery birds.

The hickory trees exploded with a
report like cannons. Like fiery ser-
pents the flames writhed and twisted
around the^ resinous undergrowth. The
hissing and roaring of the fire mingled
with the screaming of birds and bellow-
ing of beasts rose into a tumult inde-
scribable. The tall trees like so many
fiery columns swayed to and fro. The
burning creepers torn off from the trees
seemed to stretch out demoniacal arms
sending the fiery element from tree to
tree. The sky was of a dusky red as
if the conflagration had spread into the
heavens above. It was almost as light
as in the daytime. Then all the flames
blended into one huge mass of fire which
like the breath of destruction or the
wrath of God rushed through the forest.
The smoke and heat and smell of

The New Settlement. 127

burning wood became almost overpower-
ing. The people, though not threatened
bj immediate danger, were still wildly
nishing about searching and calling for
each other, w^hen suddenly from out of
the burning woods, lit up by falling
sparks, emerged the figure of Black Or-
lik. His face was begrimed with smoke
and his eyes looked fierce and exultant.
They surrounded him from all sides, and
he leaning on his rifle he said:

"You will not have to cut trees any
longer. I have burned the woods. To-
morrow you shall have, each of you, as
much land as you can manage." Then
approaching Marisha, he whispered:

"You must be mine now, for it was
I who burned the forest. Who is
stronger than I?"

The girl trembled in every limb be-
cause the wild elements seemed to be
reflected in Orlik's eyes and he was ter-
rible to look at.

128 For Daily Bread.

For the first time since she had set
foot on American soil, she thanked God
that her Jan was far away in the' quiet
Lipince village.

The roaring fiery waves rushed on
their mad career further and further
away from the camp; at daybreak the
sky was overcast and threatened rain.
The few people who ventured into the
neighborhood of the smouldering woods
were driven back by the intense heat.
The whole day a heavy fog hung in the
air and shrouded the whole landscape
from view. At night, rain began to
fall, which presently changed into a
heavy downpour. Maybe the conflag-
ration shaking the atmosphere contrib-
uted to the breaking of the clouds, or
perhaps it was the time when heavy
rains fell in these regions of big rivers,
swamps, and lakes. The whole encamp-
ment grew soft and muddy and looked
like a vast marsh. The people exposed

The Xew Settlement 1-^

to continual wet began to sicken. More
of the people left the settlement for
Clarksville, but return-ed soon after mth
the terrible news that the river had risen
and their retreat was cut otf.

Consternation prevailed in the camp,
provisions were short, and now they
coiild get nothing from Clarksville.

Laurence and Marisha were less ex-
posed to hunger than the others because
Orlik's strong hand protected them.
Every morning he brought some game
which he either shot or caught in snares.
He had put his own tent over their cabin
wall to protect Marisha and the old man
from rain and wind. Marisha was ob-
liged to accept all his gifts and be grate-
ful to him, he would take nothing in
return but that which Marisha would
not give him; her love.

"There are other girls in the world,"
she said, " go and choose one among

130 For Daily Bread.

them. You know my heart belongs to
another."

"If I were to search the whole world
over, I would not find one like you.
You are the only one for me and you
must be mine. "What will you do if
the old man dies? You will come to me
of your own accord and I shall carry
you off into the forest as the wolf car-
ries a lambkin; but not to devour you.
Whom do I fear? Let him come here,
that lover of yours, and we shall see
who is the stronger man."

When Orlik spoke about the old man
dying he judged by what he saw. Lau-
rence was rapidly growing worse;
sometimes delirious, and always be-
moaning his fate that the Lord
was punishing him for his sins and
that never again would he behold his
native village. Orlik promised and
vowed to take Marisha back to Lipince,
but this added more bitterness to the

The New Settlement. 131

girl's sorrow. To go back to the viUage
where Jan lived as the wife of another
— no! it were better to remain here and
die in the wilderness. She thought that
would be her fate.

A new disaster was in store for the
settlers. One night when Orlik was ab-
sent on one of his hunting expeditions,
a great cry was heard in the encamp-
ment: "The water! the water!"

The startled settlers rubbed their eyes,
looked round and saw as far as the eye
could reach a greyish-white' expanse
bubbling with heavy raindrops, and a
watery cloud-obscured m;oon threw her
steely light on the rippling water. From
the woods where the half charred stumps
were dimly visible came the sound of
rushing waves a great tumult arose
The women and children climbed on the
wagons; the men were rushing into the
direction opposite where the trees had
not been cut down. The water barely

132 For Daily Bread.

reached their knees but was rising rap-
idly. The sound of rushing waters
grew louder, and mingled with the cries
of terror and entreaties for help. Pres-
ently the animals began to retreat from
place to place, driven by the pressure
of the water. The sheep with plaintive
bleating seemed tO' ask for help till they
disappeared carried away by the current.
It rained in ton*ents and soon the dis-
tant rushing of the waters changed into
the roar of the unfettered elements.
The wagons began to sway and totter
under the pressure. It soon became
evident that this was not an ordinary
flood caiused by heavy rainfall but an
overflotw from the Arkansas and its trib-
utaries. The trees snapped like reeds
or were torn out by the roots, the ele-
ments seemed to be unchained carrying
with them darkness and death.

One of the wagons standing nearest
the woods toppled over. At the heart-

The jSTew Settlement. 133

rending cries of the women, the dark
figures of several men were seen leap-
ing from the trees, but the waves car-
ried the would-be rescuers into the for-
est to perish. In other wagons people
clung to the canvass roofs. The rain
came dowm unceasingly and still greater
darkness fell on the dusky lake.

Sometimes a log w^ith a human being
clinging to it was bobbing up and down
along the current; sometimes the dark
form of an« animal or a man, sometimes
a haoid was stretched out of the water
and then disappeared forever.

The bellowing of the beasts and the
agonizing cries and prayers of human
beings were drowned alike in the mighty
roaring of the waters. "Whirlpools and
eddies were fonning on the grassy plain,
the Avagons were fast disappearing.

And Laurence and Marisha, what had
become of tliem? The timbered wall
on which Laurence was lying covered

134 For Daily Bread.

by Orlik's tent had saved them for the
moment, as it floated on the water like
a raft. The eddies turned it round and
round, and the current carried it towards
the woods and bumping against one
tree and another pushed it into the bed
of the stream and further out intO' the
darkness.

Marisha kneeling by her father's
couch, raised her han.ds to Heaven, call-
ing for help from above; but her only
answer was the splashing of the water
against the wooden- raft.

The tent had been carried off by the
wind, and the few planks their only
refuge might be dashed to pieces any
moment.

Presently it stuck fast between the
branches of a tree, the top of which rose
above the water At the same minute
a human voice called out to them:

"Take my rifle and move to the fur-
ther side of the raft to keep in it bal-
ance. I am going to jump down."

The New Settlement. 135

As soon as Laurence and Marisha had
obeved these instructions a dark figure
jumped from the branches on to the
raft.

It was Orlik.

"Marisha," he said, "as I promised, so
I will stand by thee ; and may God deal
with me a? I deal by you."

He took the axe hanging at his side,
cut off a stout branch, fashioned it
quickly to suit his purpose, pushed the
raft out of the tree, and began to row.

Once in the bed of the stream, the
cun-ent increased their speed and they
floated on and on; where they went they
did not know.

From time to time Orlik turned the
raft aside in order to avoid trees, or
pushed stumps or branches out of the
way. His strength seemed to increase
with ever\- difficulty and his eyes, in
spite of the darkness, noticed everything
that might endanger their fragile

136 For Daily Bread.

craft. Hour after hour passed. Anj
ordinary man would have succumbed
under the strain; but he did not show
any sign of fatigue. Near daybreak
they came out of the forest; not a sin-
gle tree was visible in the distance.
The Avhole country looked like one vast
sea. Hideous, foaming waves rolled
and whirled over the plain. It became
lighter, and Orlik seeing that no imme-
diate danger was to be apprehended
stopped rowing for a moment, and turn-
ing to Marisha, he said:

"You are mine now, because I
snatched you from the jaws of death."
His head was bare, and his face wet
and glowing from the single-handed
fight with the elements, had such an
expression of power and masterfulness,
that for the first time Marisha dared
not reply that she belonged to another.
"Marisha," said the lad softly, "Ma-
risha, dearest."

The New Settlement. 137

'^here are we going?" she asked,
endeavoring to change the subject.

"What do I care, as long as we are
together, sweetheart."

"Go on rowing, because death is still
around us."

Orlik began to row vigorously. Lau-
rence in the meanwhile had grown
worse and worse. Sometimes he was
delirious, sometimes conscious, but he
grew weaker every minute. It was too
great a shock, and too much suffering
for his old wornout body. He was
drawing fast towards the last stage of his
wanderings. At noon he woke up and
said:

"Marisha ! I shall not see the dawn of
another day. Oh, child! child! why
did I leave my home and drag thee with
me into misery? But God is merciful;
I have suffered much, and He will for-
give my sins. Bury me if you can and
let Orlik take thee to New York. The

J 38 For Daily Bread.

good gentleman will take care of thee,
and send thee back to Linince. I shall
not see it any more. Oh, God! merci-
ful and jnst, let my soul take wings,
and see the old home once again."

The fever again increased and he be-
gan to pray aloud; and then called out in
a terrified voice : "Do not throw me into
the water as if I were a dog." He
seemed suddenly, to remember how he
had tried to drown Marisha so as to put
her out of her misery, and cried out
in piteous tones: "Child, forgive! for-
give!"

The poor girl was seated at his side,
sobbing pitifully; and Orlik took the
oar with a finner grasp while tears
gripped him by the throat.

Towards evening it cleared up. The
sun burst out and threw a flood of light
on the watery desert. The old man was
dying, but God was good to him and
gave him an easy end. First he repeated

The New Settlement. 139

in mournful tones, over and over
again :

"Whj did I leave my own country
and my own village?" by degrees the
feeble voice grew more cheerful. He
was on his way home. The gentleman
at ISTew York had given him money to
buy his little homestead back again and
they are both on their way home. They
are on the ocean; the ship goes night
and day, and the sailors are singing.
Then he sees the harbor whence he em-
barked, towns fly past him, he
hears the sounds of German speech, the
train goes faster and faster and he is
getting nearer home. Joy is expanding
his breast, how different the air feels,
how sweet and refreshing. What is
this — the frontier? The peasant's sim-
ple heart beats like a sledge hammer.
Go on! go on! Good God, there are
the fields! that is Malick's pear tree,
the grey cabins, and the church. There
is a peasant in his square- cap ploughing

140 For Daily Bread.

the field. He stretches his hands out
to him in greeting. There is the last
station and then comes Lipince. Both
he and Marisha are going along the road
weeping. It is spring, the wheat is in
bloom, and the cockchafers are buzzing
in the air. They are ringing the bell
for the Angelus. O Lord Jesus, it is
too much happiness for a sinful man.
One hill to climb and there is the vil-
lage cross and the boundary of Lipince.
The peasant throws himself on the
ground and cries like a child, he crawls
up to the cross and hugs it with both
arms; he is home again.

Yes, he is at home; because only the
soulless body remains on the raft in the
midst of the surging flood, and his spirit
has gone where is peace and happiness.
In vain are the sobs and cries of his
daughter: "Daddy, dear. Daddy!" Poor
Marisha, he will not return to thee ! He
is too happy in his new home!

The N'ew Settlement. 141

The night had come. The improv-
ised oar almost dropped from Orlik's
blistered hands and hnnger had begim
to tonnent them. Marisha, kneeling
near her father's body, was praying; and
all around nothing was to be seen but
the water. Had they entered into an-
other river? because the current was
carrying them along very fast or maybe
they were on the prairie as the whirl-
pools and eddies caused by the hollows
were often turning the raft round and
roimd and it was almost impossible to
steer it. Orlik felt himself growing
"fainter, when suddenly, he stood straight
lip and shouted excitedly:

"By the wounds of Christ! there is
a light." Marisha looked in the direc-
tion where his arm pointed, and saw a
feeble light with its ray reflected in the
water.

"It is the boat from Clarksville," said
Orlik quickly, "It has been sent out by

142 For Daily Bread.

the tO'wn to save lives. If they could
only see us! Marisha! cheer up, help
is at hand," and he called out with all
his might "Hoop! halloa!" rowing at
the same time with redoubled vigor.

The light gradually increased and by
its red glow they could distinctly see
the outline of a large boat. They were
still far away from it, but the distance
seemed to lessen.

"Is my eyesight failing," muttered
Orlik, after he had rowed some time,
or does the light appear smaller. Yes,
it was growing smaller and dimmer;
they had evidently drifted into another
current.

Suddenly the oar broke in Orlik's
powerful hands and the current carried
them swiftly further away from the
light. Fortunately the raft stuck fast
in the branches of a lonely tree. Both
shouted for help but the rushing water
drowned their voices.

The New Settlement. 143

"1 am going to fire," said Orlik.
"They will see the flash and hear the
report."

x\.s soon as he said this he raised his
rifle but instead of a flash and crack there
was only the click of the hammer. The
powder was wet.

Orlik threw himself down on the raft,
and remained there like one bereft of
his senses. Presently he raised himself.
"Marisha," he said, in a half dreamy
voice: "I think you have fairly be-
witched me; if you were like other girls
I should have carried you off by force
long ago; there was a time when I
thought of it, but dared not do it for
I loved you. Like a wolf I roamed
solitary in the forest and people were
afraid of me, and now I am timid in
the presence of a girl. I will save you
yet or perish in the attempt. If you
cannot love me it were better you
should be free from me. Marisha, my
love, my sunlight, farewell!"

144 For Daily Bread.

Before she realized wliat lie was going
to do lie had jumped from the raft into
the whirling storm. For a moment
she saw his dark head emerging from
the water and his arms striking out.
Then he disappeared from view. He
was swimming towards the boat to sum-
mon help. The fierce current impeded
his motions and dragged him back. If
he could have got into smoother water
he might have done it, for he was an
expert swimmer, but in spite of super-
human effort he made little progress.
The yellow foaming water blinded his
eyes, he raised his head and peered
through the darkness to see the light
of the boat. Sometimes a bigger wave
threw him back, another lifted him up,
his breath came quicker and quicker,
and he felt his knees growing stiff. He
seemed to hear the voice of Marisha
calling for help, and braced himself for
a fresh effort. Even now he could have

The :N'ew Settlement. 145

gone back to the raft, carried by the
current, but he did not even think of it,
because the lights of the boat seemed
to come nearer. The fact was that the
boat came into his direction carried by
the same current that he was struggling
against. A few more strokes and he
will reach it.

"Help! Help!" The last cry was half
smothered by the water which entered
into his throat. A wave passed over him
but he arose again. The boat was so
close to him that he heard the splashing
of the oars. He gathered his strength
for another ciy. They had evidently
heard him, because the strokes of the
oars became faster. But Orlik went
down again. A hideous whirlpool
dragged him under. Once more he ap-
peared on the surface, then one hand is
lifted above the water, then the other,
presently he disappeared altogether.

"In the meanwhile Marisha on the
10

146 For Daily Bread.

raft alone witli the body of her father
stared half unconsciously at the far off
lisht. Then, was it her feverish fancy?
but it seemed to come nearer, bear down
upon her, the huge boat which in the
red light and fast moving oars looked
like an immense beetle.

Marisha utterd piercing cries for help.

"I say, Smith; I'll be hanged if I
didn't hear cries of help a few minutes
ago, and just now I heard them again."

A few moments later strong anus car-
ried Marisha into the boat, but Orlik
was not there.

Two months later Marisha left the
hospital of Little Rock, and with money
provided by charitable people, set out
on her way to New York.

The money was not sufficient and she
had to go part of the way on foot, but
she could now speak a little English,
and sometimes the conductors would
give her a lift. Many people showed

The Xew Settlement. 147

pity to the pale girl with the large bine
eyes who- looked more like a shadow
than a human being. People were not
hard; it was life and its conditions which
bore hardly on her. What business had
this little Polish wildflower in the Amer-
ican whirlpool? The big wheels of life
would crush her frail life as cart wheels
pass over the flowers on a meadow.

With weak and trembling hand she
pulled the bell of the house in Water
street, in Xew York; in search of help
from the good old gentleman who hailed
from Posen like herself. A stranger
opened the door:

"Is Mister Ilotopvlski at home ?"

"Who's he?"

"A gentleman, well on in years," here
•"•he produced the card.

"He is dead."

"Dead? and his son, Master William?"

"Gone away."

"And Miss Jenny?"

148 For Daily Bread.

"Gone away."

The door was shut in her face. She
sat down on the threshold and wiped her
eyes. Here she was again in New York,
alone without protection or money, de-
pending on God alone.

What is she to do now? Stay at New
York? No, never. She would go to
the docks and beg the captains to take
her back to Hamburg. From there, on
foot and begging her bread she would
go back to Lipince. Jan was there. If
he has forgotten his love, and spurns
her she would at least die in the old
place.

She went to the docks and humbly
begged the German captains to take her
on their ships. Some of them might
have done so, because with a little bet-
ter living she would look a comely lass,
but the rules were against it, and they
bade her to go away.

Marisha spent her nights on the same

The New Settlement. 149

pier "where they had slept that never to
be forgotten night, she and her father.
Fortunately it was summer, and the
nights were wann.

At daybreak she was always at the
German docks to renew her prayers to
be taken across the Atlantic and always
in vain. She grew weaker every day,
and felt that unless she sailed soon, she
would die, as died all those that had
been connected Avith her fate. But,
with the quiet endurance of the peasant
she still clung to hope.

One morning she crept there thinking
it would be the last time, as her strength
was ebbing fast. She resolved to beg
no more, but get into a ship sailing for
Europe, and hide somewhere quietly.
When, later on, they should find her
they would not throw her into the water;
and if they did, what would it matter?
It was all one to her how she died, if
die she must. But on the gangway

150 For Daily Bread.

leading to the ship, the man on watch
rudely pushed her back. She sat down
on some lumber near the water and
thought the fever was getting hold of
her again. She began to smile strange-
ly and mutter to herself:

''I am a great heiress now, but always
faithful. Jan, don't you recognize
your Marisha?"

It was not fever but insanity.

Henceforth she came every day to
the docks to wait for the ship which was
to bring her lover. People came to
know her and gave her small gifts. She
thanked them humbly and smiled at
them like a child. This continued for
two months. One morning she did not
come and was seen no more.

The newspapers reported the next day
that the body of a girl, name and where-
abouts unknown, had been foimd dead
on the furthest end of the pier.

AN ARTIST'S END

(J^ux in Tenebris Lucet)

AN ARTIST'S END.

There are days, especially in Novem-
ber, so dark, damp, and gloomy that even
to those endowed witli a good constitu-
tion, life becomes a thing of utter weari-
ness.

Ever since Kamionka had begun to
feel ill and left off working at his statue
of charity this same weather had op-
pressed him more than his physical ail-
ment. Morning after morning he rose
from his couch, wiped the large studio
%vindow and peered anxiously out to see
Vvdiether there was any change in the
weather; but the same dreary vista met
his eyes. A leaden mist shrouded the
earth; it did not rain, yet the flags in
the court yard were covered with a

greasy moisture, everything was soaked
153

154 An Artist's End.

with wet, and the large drops falling
from the waterspout seemed to beat time
to the slowly dragging hours of sadness.

The window of the studio looked upon
the yard and garden beyond. The grass
across the railings still looked green with
the sickly greenness of death and decay ;
the trees were stripped of all but a few
yellow leaves and the black, dripping
branches seen dimly through the mist
presented a ghost-like appearance. The
rooks which had chosen them for their
winter quarters flapped their wings and
cawed loudly before settling down among
the branches.

On days like these the stiidio looked
like a mortuary. Marble and plaster of
Paris require light and sunny skies. In
the dim light their whiteness looked
mournful, and the darker terra albas
losing all distinctness of outline, took
indescribable, almost hideous shapes.
Dirt and untidiness added not a little to

An Artist's End. 155

tlie desolation of the place. Dust mixed
with bits- of clay, and dirt carried in from
the street covered the floor. The walls,
discolored by age, were bare except for a
few casts of hands and feet; not far
from the window hung a small looking-
glass snrmonnted by a horse's skull, and
a bunch of withered flowers.

In one corner stood the bed covered
with an old, crum.pled counterpane, near
it a little table with andiron candlestick.
Kamionka, to save expense, lived and
slept in the studio. The bed was usually
concealed by a screen; but now the
screen had been removed so that the sick
man might be able to- watch the win-
dow opposite for the sun to- come out.
There was another still larger window in
the roof, but this was so encrusted with
dust and dirt that even on bright days
it emitted but a scanty light.

It did not clear up. After several days
of gloominess the clouds sunk lower yet;

156 An Artist's End.

the air became more and more saturated
with mist and it grew darker still. The
artist who had lain down on his bed fully
dressed began to feel worse ; he took ofi
his clothes and got up no more.

He did not suffer from any particular
disease; he only felt very tired, very sad,
and a general weakness seemed to numb
his limbs. He did not wish for death,
yet could not summon energy enough to
live.

The long hours of darkness seemed to
him all the longer, as he had nobody near
him. His wife had died twenty years
before; his relations lived in another part
of the country and he had no friends.
His acquaintances had gradually desert-
ed him because of his increasing ill tem-
per. At the beginning people had
smiled at his cantankerous humors, but
when he became more and more of an
oddity and took offence at the slightest
joke, even those that knew him best
broke off all intercourse.

An Artist's End. 157

They also resented that he had grown
pious with advancing years and doubted
his sincerity. Malicious tongues whis-
pered that he went to church in order to
get commissions from the priests. They
were wrong. His piety was not, perhaps,
the outcome of a firm and deep-rooted
conviction, but it was genuine. The only
thing said against him founded upon
truth was his ever increasing miserliness.
For many years he had lived in his studio
upon the scantiest of fares, which under-
mined his constitution and gave his face
the waxlike hue.

He avoided people, fearing they might
want something from him. His was a
warped nature, embittered and very un-
happy. But for all this his character was
not a common one, as even his faults had
an artistic stamp. Those who fancied he
hoarded money were wrong. Kamionka
was a poor man because he spent all his
money upon etchings, of which he had a

158 An Artist's End.

large collection. He looked at them now
and then and counted them with the
greed of a miser gloating over his gold.
He kept this a secret from everybody,
perhaps for the very reason that the fan-
cy had sprung from a great sorrow and
deep feelings.

A year or two after the death of his
wife he had come across an old etching,
the center figure of which recalled to
him the features of his dead wife. He
bought the print and ever afterwards
looked about to find the same likeness in
others and gradually, as the fancy got
hold of him, he bought anything in the
same line that pleased Lis artistic eye.

People who have lost what they held
most precious in life are obliged to fill
up the void, otherwise they could not ex-
ist. As to Kamionka nobody would have
thought that this elderly egoist had once
loved a woman more than his life. Had
she not died, his life most likely would

An Artist's End. 159

h&ve been different, more peaceful, and
hnman. As it was this love had outlived
his talent, youth and happier times.

The piety which gradually became a
regular custom, based upon the observa-
tion of outward forms, had spnmg from
the same source. Kamionka was not one
of those who clung to religious beliefs;
he began to pray after the death of his
wife because it seemed to him that this
was the only thing now he could do for
her, the only link which connected him
with her. Natures apparently cold and
impassive are often endowed vnth an in-
tensity of feeling little suspected by their
sun-oundings. After the death of his
wife all Kamionka's thoughts twined
around her memory and drew nourish-
ment from it like the parasite plant from
the tree to which it cling-s; but the hu-
man mind cannot subsist on this kind of
nutriment; it distorts it and throws it off
its balance.

IGO An Artist's End.

Had he not been an artist lie conld not
have survived his loss : his art saved him.
It is useless to tell the survivor that it
matters nothing to the dead in what
grave they rest. Kamionka wished his
dead wife to have the best he could give
her and he worked at her monument as
much with his heart as hands. This
saved him from madness and prevented
his giving way altogether.

The man remained warped and un-
happy, but art had saved the artist.
Henceforth Kamionka lived only for his
art.

Very few in looking at pictures or
sculptures give any thought as to wheth-
er the artist has treated his subject hon-
estly or otherwise. Upon this point Kam-
ionka was without reproach. He was not
a genius, and his gift only a little above
the average, therefore it could not fill his
whole life or compensate him for his loss,
but such as it was he respected it deeply

An Artist's End. 161

and was always true to it. During all his
life he never insulted or wronged his art,
either for fame, lucre, or blame. He
created what h© felt. In those happy
times when he lived like other men he
used to speak about art in quite an un-
common way and when afterw^ards peo-
ple began to avoid him he thought of it
in the loneliness of his studio watli the
same reverence and honesty.

Human beings in relation to each
other have certain unwritten laws in vir-
tue of which the exceptionally unhappy
ones are condemned to solitude It is the
stone thrust out of the riverbed, ceasing
to rub against other stones, becomes in-
crusted mth moss, so the human unit
separated from his fellows acquires faults
and oddities.

Now when Kamionka lay ill nobody

came to see him except the charwoman,

who looked in twice a day to fill li"!s

samovar and prepare the tea. She ad-

11

162 An Artist's End.

vised to send for the doctor, but he scout-
ed the idea, being afraid of the expense.

At last he grew very faint, perhaps
because he took no nourishment except
tea. But he had no desire for anything,
either to eat or to work, or to live. His
thoughts were as limp as tlie autumn
leaves he saw through the window, and
in harmony with the mist and darkness
outside. There are no worsen moments in
human eixstence than when it is brought
home to us that all has been don© there
was to do, and that life can give us noth-
ing more. Kamionka for nearly fifteen
years had lived in continual terror lest
his talent should give out. Now he was
sure of it and he thought with bitterness
that even his art had deserted him. He
felt weary and utterly exhausted. He
did not expect to die soon, but did not
believe he could get better.

Altogether there was not a spark of
hope in him.

An Artist's End. 103

If he wished for anything it "vrere for
the snn to come ont and shine through
the window. He thought that might re-
vive him a little. He had always been
sensitive to the changes of weather, and
rain or darkness, always influenced his
spirit, and now this hopeless weather, as
he called it, had come when he lay pros-
trated on his bed.

Every morning when the woman came
with his tea Kamionka asked :

"How does it look outside? Do you
think it is clearing up?"

"Ah, no," answered the woman,
"there is such a mist that one cannot see
anybody within a yard."

The sick man hearing this shut his
eyes wearily and remained motionless for
hours.

In the courtyard everything was silent
but for the slow continual drip of the
waterspout.

At three o'clock in the afternoon it

164 An Artist's End.

grew so dark that Kamionka had to light
the candle. This, being so weak, cost
him no little trouble. Before stetching
out his hand for tlie matches he thought
it over, then raised his arm, the thinness
of which showing through the night
dress offended his artistic taste; after he
had lit the candle, he fell back again,
and remained motionless, listening with
closed eyes to the monotonous drip of the
water, until the charwoman came in for
the second time.

The studio presented a strange sight.
The flame of the candle lit up the bed
and the artist lying upon it, and concen-
trated itself in one luminous point on the
forehead, which looked like old polished
ivory. The remainder of the room lay
in deep shadow, which increased and
thickened gradually. But in proportion
as the darkness increased the statues
seemed to grow more lifelike. The flam\3
of the candle rose and fell, and in the

An Artist's End. 165

flickering lights they too seemed to move
and stand on tip-toe to look at the
emaciated frame of the sculptor, curious
to know whether their creator were still
among the living.

And truly there was in that face a
certain rigidity of death. But from time
to time the pale lips moved as if in
prayer, or maybe silently complained of
his loneliness, and the everlasting drip
from the waterspout, which always with
the same precision, seemed to measure
the time of his illness.

One evening the charwoman came in
smelling strongly of alcohol, therefore
more than usually loquacious, and said:

"There is so much work on my hands
that I can only just manage to look in
twice a day. Why not send for a sister
of mercy? They do not cost anything,
and it would be more comfortable for
you."

The idea pleased Kamionka, but like

166 An Artist's End.

most queer tempered people, he liked to
oppose what anybody advised him, he
therefore refused.

After the woman had gone he began,
to turn it over in his mind. A sister of
mercy! It was true they did not take
money and what help and comfort she
would have been to him! Kamionka,
like other sick people left to themselves,
had to bear various discomforts and
small miseries which hurt him as much
as they irritated him. Sometimes his
head was lying in an uncomfortable posi-
tion for hours and he could not summon
energy enough to rearrange the pillows ;
then at nights he often felt chilly and
would have given anything for some hot
tea, but if the lighting of the candle
caused him difficulty how could he think
of boiling the water? A sister of mercy
would do all that for him mth the ut-
most cheerfulness. How much easier it
would be to bear illness vriih somebody
to help him.

An Artist's End. 167

The poor man worked himself up to
that extent that it appeared to him even
illness under such conditions were some-
thing almost desirable and wondered in-
wardly that all this lay within his reach.

The thought also that if the sister
came the studio would look more cheer-
ful, even the clouds might lift and the
unceasing drip of the waterspout cease to
haunt him.

Then he began to regret that he had
not agreed at once to the woman's pro-
posal. The long, gloomy night was be-
fore him and he could not see her till
next morning. It dawned upon him that
this night of all otliers would bei the long-
est and the heaviest to bear.

Thoughts flitted through his brain of
what an utter outcast he was and he be-
gan to compare his former life with what
it now was. And as the thought of the
sister, so now the days past and gone,
seemed to be closely allied with sunshine
and liriffht skies.

168 An Artist's End.

He began tliinking of his dead wife
and to pour out all his grief and sorrow
to her as he always did when he felt very
miserable. At last he grew tired and fell
asleep.

The candle on the little table burned
down. The flame changed from pink
into a bluish hue, then flickered up once
and twice and went out. The studio was
now wrapped up in utter darkness.

In the meantime outdoors the drops of
water fell one by one as if all the sadness
and gloom were filtering slowly through
nature's bosom.

Kamionka slept long and peacefully,
when suddenly he woke up under the
impression that something unusual was
taking place in the studio. It was to-
wards daybreak. The marble statues and
plaster of paris casts began to whiten. A
pale light shone through the window op-
posite. By this light Kamionka saw
somebody sitting near his bed.

An Artist's End. 169

He opened his eyes very ^vide and
looked. It was a sister of mercy.

She sat quite motionless, a little
turned towards the window, with her
head bent doAvn. Her hands were crossed
on her knees — she seemed to pray. The
sick man could not see her face, but he
saw distinctly the white coif and the
dark outline of the somewhat thin
shoulders.

His heart began to beat a little anx-
iously and the question rose in his mind :

''When could the char^voman have
fetched the sister, and how did she come
in?"

Presently he thought it must be the
fancy of a weakened brain and he shut
his eyes. After a few moments he
opened them again.

The sister was still sitting in the same
place, motionless as if absorbed in pray-
ers.

A strange feeling, partly of joy and

170 An Artist's End.

partly of fear made his hair rise. Some-
thing incomprehensible seemed to draw
him towards that silent figure. He fan-
cied to have seen her before- — but where
and when he could not remember. He
felt a great longing to see tlie face hid-
den under the white coif. Kamionka,
without understanding it himself, dared
neither move or speak; he scarcely dared
to breathe. He only felt that fear and
joy possessed his whole being and asked
himself wonderingly: What does it
mean?

It had grown quite light now. "What
a wonderful morning it must be out-
doors he thought. Suddenly, without
any transition, a great flood of light came
in through the wudow, a light as strong
and radiant as comes in the month of
May. Waves of golden sunshine seemed
to pour in and fill the room, the statues
and marbles disappeared %vithin, the very
walls seemed absorbed by it — and Ka-

An Artist's End. 171

mionka found liims;.lf in a lighted end-
less space.

He looked at the sister, the white coif,
which concealed her features, seemed to
shake with a sudden tremor, and the
glorious light touched the bent head.

She turned it slowly towards the sick
man and suddenly the deserted outcast
saAV as in a glory the well-known features
of his beloved vdie.

He rose fi-om his bed, and from his
breast came a cry, which spoke of years
of bitterness, tears, and sorrow:
•'Lozia! Lozia!"

And taking hold of her he pressed her
to his heart and she threw both arms
around his neck.

The light grew stronger and stronger.
"You remained true to me," she said
at last, "therefore I came and prayed
that death might deal gently by you."

Kamionka was still holding her in his
arms for fear the holy vision might dis-

172 An Artist's End.

appear together with the light. "I am
ready to die," he said, "if only I could
keep you with me."

A smile of exceeding sweetness lit up
her face and taking one hand from
around his neck she pointed down and
said:

"You are dead; look there!"
Kamionka's eyes followed the direc-
tion of her hand and there below, under
his feet, he looked through the skylight
into the dim lonely studio; there on the
bed lay his body, the wide-open mouth
forming a decavity on the yellow waxen
face. He looked upon the emaciated
form as upon a strange thing. He soon
lost sight of it altogether, because the
wave of light, as if moved by a breeze
from other worlds, carried them higher
and higher into space.

A COMEDY OF ERRORS

A Sketch of American Life

A COMEDY OF ERRORS.

Five or six years ago it happened that
oil was discovered somewhere in the
county of Mariposa, in California. The
enormous profits derived from oil in
Nevada and other states, speedily
brought speculators to the spot, who
formed a company and brought out
pumps, barrels of all sizes and dimen-
sions, and all the machinery necessary
for sinking wells. Some fifty houses
were erected for the workmen, the place
named "Struck Oil," and shortly, as if
by magic, a settlement sprung into life
where formerly had been a barren wil-
derness, inhabited only by coyotes.

Two years later Struck Oil became a

city, and was a city in the full meaning

of the word. Please to note: There was

already a shoemaker, a tailor, a carpen-

175

176 A Comedy of Errors.

ter, a blacksmith, a butcher, and a doc-
tor. The latter a Frenchman, who in
bygone times had shaved beards in
Trance, but nevertheless had some surgi-
cal knowledge and was harmless, which
in an American doctor means a great
deal.

The doctors, as is often the case in a
small town, had an apothecary's shop.
He was also postmaster, and had, there-
fore, three strings to his bow.

As an apothecar}^ he was equally
harmless, as his whole stock consisted
in colored syrups and Leroy. This quiet
and gentle old man would say to his
patients :

"Do not be afraid of my physic. I
take a dose myself every time I prescribe
to a patient, and if it does not hurt a
healthy man, it is sure not to harm a
sick one. Now don't you think so?"

"That's true," replied the satisfied pa-
tients. It never occurred to them that

A Comedy of Errors. 17 7

it was the doctor's dut}' not only not to
injure a patient, but to help him.

Monsieur Dasonville, tliat was the doc-
tor's name, was a staunch believer in the
marv'ellous effects of leroy. Frequently
at public meetings he would bare his
head and turn to his audience with these
words :

"Ladies and gentlemen, you see in me
the happy effects of leroy. I am seventy
years old, and during forty years of my
life, I have never failed to take a daily
dose, and behold, I have not a single grey
hair on my head."

He had no grey hair, that was true
enough ; but then it might have been re-
marked that he had none at all, as his
head was as smooth as a billiard ball;
but as this had nothing whatever to do
with the development of the city, the
doctor's speech remained unchallenged.

In the meanwhile Struck Oil City
grew larger and larger. PresenJy a
12

178 A Camedy of Errors.

railway branch was established to con-
nect the city with the world in general;
and its officials decided upon. The doc-
tor as a representative of learning, a man
universally liked and respected, was
chosen as judge; the shoemaker, Mr.
Davis, a Polish Jew, became the head of
the police force, which consisted of the
sherifi and nobody else; a school was
built, and its management entrusted to a
schoolma'am, specially imported, an an-
cient spinster with a chronic faceache;
and last, but not least, there rose the
first hotel under the name of the United
States Hotel.

Business flourished. The exportation
of oil brought immense profits.

Mr. Davis erected a bay-window be-
fore his shop in imitation of those in
'Frisco.' At the next meeting the citi-
zens offered him a vote of thanks for
having embellished the city; upon which
the sheriff, with the proud humility of a
great man, said :

A Comedy of Errors. 179

"Thank yoii! oh, thank yon!"
Where there is a judge and a sheriff
there are likely to be lawsuits. This
called for wTiting matei-ial; therefore, at
the corner of Coyote and First streets a
stationer established himself, who sold
also newspapers and political caricatures,
representing General Grant as a boy
milking a cow; the United States. It
was not the sheriff's duty to prohibit the
sale of caricatures, as the police had
nothing to do with that.

What would an American town be
without a newspaper? At the end of the
second year a paper under the title of
the "Saturday Weekly Review," made
its appearance and had as many subscrib-
ers as there were people in the city. The
editor of the paper was at the same time
sub-editor, printer and distributor. The
last duty did not cause him any incon-
venience, as he kept a dairy and person-
ally supplied the citizens with milk.

180 A Comedy of Errors.

These humble duties did not prevent him
from beginning his political articles
something after this fashion: "If our
benighted President had followed the ad-
vice given him in our last issue," etc.,
etc.

It is seen, therefore, that not a single
blessing was lacking in Struck Oil City.
The sheriff's duties v/ere not heavy, as
the miners working the oil-wells had
none of the violent and rowdy spirit of
the gold-diggers; and things were gen-
erally pretty quiet. ISTobody fought any-
body, lynch-law was unknown, and the
days flowed peacefully, one exactly like
the other. The first half of the day was
devoted to business, and in the evening
when there were no meetings, the citi-
zens burnt rubbish in the street, and
then went to bed; in the blissful con-
sciousness that they would do the same
thing the day following.

The sheriff's only trouble was that he

A Comedy of Errors. 181

could not prevail upon the citizens not
to fire at the wild geese which at sunset
were seen flying over the city. The law
prohibits using fireamis in public thor-
oughfares. ''If it were a scurv^y little
town," remarked the sheriff, "1 wouldn't
say anything against the practice, but in
a respectable city to go on bang! bang-
ing in the streets, is, to say the least, un-
becoming."

The citizens listened deferentially to
his speech, nodded their heads, and said :
"Yes, yes," but when the evening came
and on the rosy sky appeared the long
grey line of the birds flying towards the
ocean, everybody forgot his promise,
grasped the rifle, and the shooting began
as merrily as ever.

Mr. Davis might have brought the cul-
prits before the judge to be fined heav-
ily, but we must not forget that the of-
fenders were the judge's patients in case
of sickness, and which ha]>pened of tener,

182 A Comedy of Errors.

the sheriff's customers when their boots
wore out. and as one hand washes the
other, it is not likely one hand would
hurt the other. Peace and quietness
reigned therefore in Struck Oil City,
when suddenly that delightful state of
things came to an end.

Two storekeepers had risen against
each other in mortal feud. In the stores
was everything which mortal man or
woman can want or desire: hats, cigars,
paper-collars, shirts, blouses, and all
sorts of gToceries. In the beginning
there was but one store, kept by Hans
Kasche, a phlegmatic German from
Prussia. He was about thirty-five years
old, not exactly fat, but round and com-
fortable looking. He always walked
about in his shirt sleeves and never part-
ed company with his pipe. Ho knew
enough English for his business, and no
more; but to the latter he attended so
diligently, that after a year it was said

A Comedy of Errors. 183

by tiiose wlio knew that he was -.vorth
several thousand dollars.

Suddenly a second store made its ap-
pearance opposite Hans Kasche.

By a singular chance the rival estab-
lishment was also kept by a German, a
Miss J^euman, or, as she styled herself,
!N'ewman. The two dealei-s looked as-
kance at each other from the beginning,
but open hostilities did not break out
until Miss JSTeuman gave an ''Opening"
luncheon, and the cakes there served
were found to be baked from flour adul-
terated with soda and alum. She would
have compromised herself in public opin-
ion had she not declared that the flour
had been purchased at Hans Kasche's;
her own not being yet unpacked. It be-
came evident that Hans must be a rascal,
who, devoured by envy, had tried to ruin
his rival at the very outset. Everybody
anticipated skirmishes between the two,
but did not foresee that so much personal

184 A Comedy of Errors.

animosity would be mixed up with it.
It was commented upon by the citizens
that Hans never burned his rubbish, but
when the wind blew in the direction of
his rival's store. Miss iN'euman never
spoke of Hans but as the "Dutchman,"
which gave mortal offence.

In the beginning the citizens made
fun of both parties, especially as neither
of them spoke English; but gradually,
from their daily relations with the gro-
cers two parties began to form them-
selves in the city, the IS^eumanites and
the Hansimists, who looked askance at
each other, which undermined the gen-
eral harmony and threatened the city
with dire complications. The diplomatic
sheriif tried in vain to stem the torrent
at its source and to conciliate the two
Germans. He was often seen standing
in the middle of the street addressing
them in their native tongue:

"Come now, why should you quarrel?

A Comedy of Errors. 185

Don't you buy your boots in the same
establishment? I have got just now such
a lovely assortment, none better to be
found in San Francisco."

"What is the use of recommending
your boots to people who will have to do
without them before long?" inteiTupted
the lady, acrimoniously.

"I do not attract customers by my
feet," replied phlegmatic Hans.

ISTow Miss ISTeuman, though a Ger-
man, had beautiful feet, and this covert
sneer filled her with wrath unspeakable.

At the meetings, the affairs of the two
rival dealers begin to evoke discussion
and, as in America, in the case of a wom-
an, justice is doubly blindfolded, there-
fore the majority leaned towards Miss
jSTeuman.

Presently Hans became aware that his
customers began to fall off. Miss 'Neii-
man likewise thought her business did
not go on as well as it ought to. The

186 A Comedy of Errors.

fact was all the women stood by Hans.
They remarked that their husbands fre-
quented the lady's store too much and
lingered too long over their purchases.

When no customers were to be served
in either store, Hans and Miss l^euman
stood in their doors casting at each other
looks of scorn and hatred. Miss Neu-
man often sung a ditty to the tune of
"Mein lieber Augustin."

"Dutchman! Dutchman, oh Du-Du-
Dutchman!"

Hans looked at her feet, then at her
figure, his eyes slowly travelling up-
wards to her face with an expression as
if he were examining a dead coyote;
then burst into demoniacal laughter,
saying:

"Mein Gott!"

The hatred in this phlegmatic man
had now developed to such an extent
that when he stood before his door and
did not see his rival he felt uncomfort-
able.

A Comedy of Errors. 187

More overt hostilities would have
broken out before this had not Hans
been sure that he would get the worst
of any public exposure, as Miss Neuman
liad the editor of the "Weekly Review"
on her side. He had become aware of
this after he had circulated the news
that Miss J^euman had a made up figure.
A slashing article appeared in the paper
pointing out the slandering propensities
of the Gennans in general, and wound
up with an assurance that being well-
informed he considered it his duty to in-
form his readers that the figure of a cer-
tain calumniated lady was nature's han-
diwork.

From this day forth Hans took his
coffee without milk, whereas Miss 'New-
man i;ook double the amount. She also
had herself measured for a tailor-made
dress, which decisively convinced every-
body that Hans was a slanderer.

In presence of female cunning Hans

188 A Comedy of Errors.

felt himself at his wits end, and there in
the open door stood the fair enemy sing-
ing her ditty about the ^'Dutchman."

"What can I do to her?" thought
Hans vindictively. "I have some wheat
poisoned for rats, if I poisoned her poul-
try? No, they would make me pay for
it. I know what I will do."

In the evening Miss I^euman perceiv-
ed with astonishment that Hans was car-
rying armfuUs of ^vild sunflower stalks
up to his cellar wdndow. "I should like
to know what he is up to now, it's sure
to be something against me!"

It had now grown almost dark, but she
could still see Hans spreading the stalks
in two lines, leaving a little path free
towards the cellar window; he then
brought something carefully wrapped up
in a cloth, he turned his back to where
Miss ISTeuman was watching him, took
the cloth from the mysterious object,
placed it tenderly on the ground and

A Comedy of Errors. 189

covered it with (ky leaves; then ap-
proached the wall and began writing
upon it.

Miss Neiiman was quivering with ex-
citement.

''He is writing something spiteful
against me/' she thought. "I shall see
what it is as soon as everybody is in
bed, if it cost me my life."

"\Mien Hans had finished his work he
went leisurely into his house and soon
afterwards extinguished the light. Then
Miss Keuman hastily donned her wrap-
per, thrust her bare feet into slippers,
and went into the street. "WTien she
came to the sunflowers, she went straight
across the little footpath up to the win-
dow in order to see the inscription on
the wall. Suddenly her eyes opened
"wide in terror, the upper part of her
body swayed backwards and an agoniz-
ing cry burst from her lips:

"Help! help!"

190 A Comedy of Errors.

A sash in the upper story was lifted
gently.

"Was is das?" said the even voice of
Hans. "Was is das?"

"Cursed Dutchman," screamed the
lady, "you have killed me, murdered
me. To-morrow you will be hung.
Help! help!"

"I am coming directly," said Hans.

Presently he appeared with a lighted
candle. He looked at Miss ISTeuman,
who seemed rooted to the spot; then he
put his arms akimbo, and burst into a
shout of meri'v laughter.

"Ho! ho! ho! It's Miss ]^euman!
Ho! ho! ho! Good evening, Miss. I
set a trap for skunks and caught a young
lady. What were you doing at my cel-
lar window? I wrote a warning on the
wall to prevent people coming near it.
Scream away; let people come and see
that you come at nights to look into the
Dutchman's cellar window. Oh, mein

A Comedy of Errors. 191

Gott! scream as loud as you can, bnt
you will have to remain where you are
till morning. Good night, Miss Neu-
man, good night!"

Miss N'euman's position was dreadful.
If she kept on screaming people would
collect and see her thus; what a scandal!
If she did not scream she would have to
stop here all night and be seen by people
next morning, and beside her foot was
becoming very painful. Her head began
to swim, the stars seemed to melt one
into the other, the moon showed the
fiendish countenance of Herr Hans. She
fainted.

"Herr Je!" ejaculated Hans to him-
self, "suppose she dies? They would
lynch me without trial!"

And his hair stood on end with sudden
terror. He searched for the key of the
trap, but it was not easy to unlock it, as
Miss ISTeuman's wrapper was in the way.
He had to jjush it aside and ... in

192 A Comedy of Errors.

spite of liis hatred and terror lie could
not help looking admiringly at the little
marble feet, visible now in the reddish
light of the moon.

He unlocked the trap quickly, and as
the lady gave no sign of returning con-
sciousness he lifted her in his strong arms
and carried her across the street into her
own house. During the short transit his
hatred and aversion seemed to have van-
ished into space and the only feeling
he was conscious of possessing was a gen-
tle pity and compassion for his helpless
enemy. He returned to his house, and
tossed restlessly on his bed all night.
Something had disturbed phlegmatic
Hans' equanimity.

The next morning Miss Neuman did
not appear in the doorway, and did not
sing about the "Dutchman." Maybe
she felt ashamed or maybe she was si-
lently plotting her revenge.

The sequel showed that it was the

A Comedy of Eito.i-s. 193

latter. That same evening- the editor
of the "Weekly Review" challenged
Hans to fight, and began by giving him
a black eye. But Hans' blood was up
and he began to use his fists so vigorous-
ly that the editor was thrown full length
on the ground and cried out: "Enough!
Enough!"

Nobody knew^ how it happened, it was
not through Hans that the whole town
came to know of Miss jSTeuman's noctur-
nal adventure. After the fight with the
editor, all softer feelings vanished from
Hans Kasche's heart, and he hated his
rival as cordially as ever.

He had a foreboding that the inimical
hand was preparing new blows, and he
had not long to wait for it either. Ameri-
cans use ice largely and Hans always
kept a good supply of it in his cellar.
Gradually he became aware that nobody
applied for ice to him any longer. The
huge slabs he had brought by railroad
13

194 A Comedy of Errors.

were melting down and lie was already
some fifteen dollars out of pocket. How
was it? He saw his own partisans buy-
ing it in the opposite stores. He could
not make out what it meant, but resolved
to find out the reason. The saloon-keep-
er, Peters, passed his door.

"Why do you not take your ice from
me any longer?" he asked.

"Because you have not got any," re-
plied Peters.

"Aherl I keep ice always," said Hans.

"And what's that for?" asked the sa-
loon-keeper, pointing to a notice stuck
up on the wall.

Hans looked, and turned green with
rage. In the word "Notice" the t had
been carefully erased and read "No ice."

"Donnerwetter!" shouted Hans, and
with livid face and trembling limbs he
rushed into Miss Neuman's store.

"That's a rascally business," he shout-
ed with foaming mouth. "Why did you
scratch out that letter. Miss?"

A Comedy of Errors. 195

*-Vrhat did you gay I scratched out?"
a^ked Miss Neuman innocently.

"Tlie letter t I say. You scratched
out the t, but donnerwetter, this must be
ended, yoii will have to pay me for the
ice."

Poor Hans had lost his usual compo-
sure and danced and shouted about the
place like one bereft of his senses. Miss
Neuman began to scream and people
rushed into the store.

"Help! help!" she called out. "The
Dutchman is gone mad ! He says I have
scratched something out. What should
I scratch out unless it were his eyes, if he
goes on like that. I am a poor, lonely
woman ; he means to kill me, to murder
me."

Saying this she broke out in tears.
The people did not understand what it
was all about; but they could not stand
by and see a woman shed teai*s; they
therefore took th*^ German by the serulf

196 A Comedy of Errors.

of the neck snd tried to evict liim. Hans
resisted valiantly, but in vain; out he
had to go, and out he went flying across
the street into his own store, where he
fell headlong on the ground.

A week later a painted signboard ap-
peared above his store. It represented
a monkey dressed in a striped gown,
white apron and bib, a dress exactly like
that Miss ISTeuman used to wear. Un-
derneath was the inscription:

"Stores at the sign of the monkey."

People collected before the store.
Their merriment brought Miss ISTeuman
into the street. She looked at the sign-
board and changed color, but with great
presence of mind she called out at once:

"A very appropriate sign for Herr
Kasche!"

But all the same the blow had struck
home. At noon when the children, com-
ing from school, stopped before the pic-
ture, she had te listen to their mocking
comments:

A Comedy of Errors. 197

''Ob, that's Miss Neuman! Good
morning, Miss Neuman!"

This was too much. When the editor
came with the milk, she said :

"The monkey is meant for me. I
know it's me, and I shall never forgive
him for the insult. He shall be forced
to take it down and lick it off with his
tongue in my presence!"

"What do you intend to do about it,
Miss?"

'T will go to the judge.^'

"Now?"

"To-mon-ow."

The next morning on leaving the
store she approached Hans.

"Listen, Herr Dutchman, I know that
monkey is meant for me. You come
with me to the judge and we will see
what he says about it?"

"He will say that anybody has the
right to hang out a signboard."

"V.' e'll soon see about that."

19<S A Comedy of Errors.

Miss Xeuman could scarcely breathe.

"And how do you know it was meant
for you, Miss?"

"My conscience tells me. Come at
once to the judge, unless you wish the
sheriff to bring you there in handcuffs."

"Very well, I will go," said Hans,
who felt sure the judge could do noth-
ing to him.

They locked their stores and departed
— abusing each other heartily on the
way.

At the very door of Monsieur Dason-
vilie they remembered that they did not
know English sufficiently well to explain
the case. No, it wouldn't do, they must
fii-st go to the sheriff. The sheriff was
sitting on his wagon ready to start off
on a journey.

"Go to the devil!" he exclaimed
quickly. "You two disturb the whole
town, and your boots last you out the
whole summer. I am going to fetch
lumber. Good bye!"

A Comedy of Errors. 199

And off lie went at a brisk trot.

Hans put liis arms akimbo.

"You will have to wait till to-mor-
row, Miss," he said, phlegmatically.

"I shall not wait! I would rather die
— unless you take down your sign-
board."

"I will not take it down, Miss."

"Then you will swing for it! You
will be hanged, Dutchman."

"We can do without the sheriff. The
judge knows all about the matter with-
out our telling him."

Miss Neuman was wrong for once.
The judge was the only man in the city
who did not know anything about their
quarrels. The harmless old man was
busy preparing his leroy and fancied he
was saving the world.

He received them as he received ev-
erybody, kindly and w^th perfect polite-
ness.

"Show your tongues, my children, I
will soon give you a prescription.

200 A Comedy of Errors.

Both waved their arms to shoAv it was
not for a prescription they had come.
Miss Is'euman repeated: "It is not that
we want."

"What is it then?"

Both talked at once. To Hans's one
word Miss Neuman had ten. At last the
lady hit upon means to make him under-
stand; she pointed at her heart, to show
how wounded it was by Hans Kasche's
behavior.

The judge's face brightened. "I un-
derstand," he said, "I understand."

Then he opened a book and began to
write. He asked Hans his age. "Thirty-
six." Then he asked the lady: she did
not remember accurately, but thought
it was about twenty-five. "All right!"

"What Christian name? Hans-Lora.
All right!"

"What occupation?" "Storekeepers."
"All right!" Then a few other questions
Y^']lich they did not understand, but an-

A Comedy of Errors. 201

swered yes. The judge nodded all was
over.

He left off writing, rose, and to the as-
tonishment of Lora took her in his arms
and kissed her on both cheeks. She took
this for a good omen, and full of pleasant
anticipation returned home.

''I will show you now who has got the
upper hand," said Miss Neuman.

"You will show some one else then,"
said the German quietly.

The next morning the sheriff passed
near the stores. Both stood at their
doors. Hans puffed at his pipe. Miss
Neuman was singing.

"Do you wish to go to the judge?"
asked the sheriff.

"We have been there."

"Well, what does he say?"

"Dear Sheriff, good Herr Davis, go
and ask him what he intends to do; and
please say a word for me. You see, I
am a poor, lonely girl. I shall visit you
soon as I am in want of boots."

202 A Comedy of Errors.

The sheriff left, but returned in a
quarter of an hour — and for some in-
explicable reason was surrounded by a
crowd of people.

"Well, what is it?" asked both liti-
gants, eagerly.

"It's all right! It's all right!" said
the sheriff.

"And what has the judge done for
us?"

"What should he have done? He has
married you!"

"Married us?"

"What is there so astonishing in that?
People do marry."

If a thunderbolt had fallen in their
midst they could not have been more
startled. Hans opened his eyes and
mouth and stared stupidly at Miss Neu-
man, and Miss ISTeuman stared in blank
amazement at Hans.

"I to be his wife?"

"I to be her husband?"

A Comedy of Errors. 203

"Oh hoiTor! never! We must have a
divorce at once!"

"I would rather die than live with the
man. We must get divorced ; oh, what a
misfortune!"

"My dears," said the sheriff quietly,
"what is the use of all this noise? The
judge can marry you, but he cannot di-
vorce you. What is there to cry out
about? Are you millionaires to be able
to go for a divorce to San Francisco? Do
you know what it will cost you ? Take it
easy. I have beautiful baby shoes, sell
'em you cheap. Good bye!"

Saying this, he went on his way. The
people dispersed laughing, and the newly
married couple remained alone.

"It's that Frenchman," exclaimed the
bride. "He has done it on purpose,
knowing we are both Germans."

"Richtig (correct)," replied Hans.

"But we will have a divorce."

"I agree with you there, Miss. What

204 A Comedy of Errors.

a mean thing it was for you to scratch
that letter out."

"I was not the first to begin; you
caught me in a spring trap."

"I don't care for you, Miss."

"I hate yon."

Upon this they separated and shut up
their stores. She remained shut up all
the day, thinking; and he did the same.
Night brings rest and peace. They re-
tired, but could not sleep. He thought:
"There sleeps my wife." She thought:
"There sleeps my husband." And
strange feelings grew up in their liearts.
It was still anger and hatred, but with
them, an overwhelming sensation of
loneliness. Beside that Hans thought of
the sig-n board over his door. He would
not let it remain now, it was a caricature
of his wife. And it struck him that after
all it had been a mean thing to have had
it painted and hung up there. But then
he hated her; it was through her his ice

A Comedy of Errors. 205

tliawed; it v/as true lie had caught her
in a trap; and he saw again before his
eves the pretty, bare feet, %vith the moon-
light playing upon them. She is a nice
enough girl, but she hates me and I do
not like her. What a situation, Ach !
Herr Gott!" to be married to Miss iSTeu-
man. And a divorce costs so much mon-
ey, that all his savings would be insuffi-
cient to cover the expense.

''I am the wife of that Dutchman,"
said Miss !N^euman to herself. "I am
no longer a maiden, but a married wo-
man. And to think that I am married
to that fellow Kasche who caught me in
a springtrap. It's true, he took me in
his arms and carried me upstaire. How
strong he is. What noise is that?"

There was no noise, but Miss ISTeuman
was frightened, she, who had never been
frightened before. "It's ver>' lonely for
a single woman; it would be different
with a man in the house. Murders had

206 A Comedy of Errors.

been committed before on lonely wometi
(she had not thought of it before), some-
body might kill and rob her some day.
And to think that now that man Kasche
has barred, me from matrimony. We
must soon get a divorce, there's comfort
in that."

Thinking and thinking she turned
restlessly in her bed.

Suddenly she started, yes there was
a noise, she had not been mistaken. In
the stillness of the night she distinctly
heard the knocking of a hammer.

'^Good Lord!" screamed the lady,
"some burglar is trying to get into the
store."

She jumped from her bed, put on her
wi-apper and vushed to the window; but
what she saw there completely restored
the balance of her mind. By the light of
the moon she saw a ladder, and perched
on it the comfortable looking Hans, who,
hammer in hand, knocked out one by

A Comedy of Errors. 207

one the nails which fastened the sign-
board over his store.

"It is good-natured on his part, he is
taking down the monkey."

And she felt as if something was melt-
ing in her heart.

Now the nails had all been withdrawn
and the plate came rattling to the
ground. Then he descended, knocked
off the frame^ rolled the sheet into a
tube, and then removed the ladder.

The lady followed all his motions with
her eyes. The night was quiet and
warm.

"Herr Hans!" called she in a low tone.

"You are not asleep. Miss ?" whispered
Hans.

"No; good evening, Herr Hans."

"Good evening. Miss."

"What are you doing?"

"I have taken down the monkey."

"Thank you, Herr Hans."

After that there was a slight pause.

208 A Comedy of Errors.

"Herr Hans," whispered again the
voice from the window.

"What is it, Friiulein Lora?"

"We must consult about the divorce."

"Yes."

"To-morrow?"

"To-morrow."

Again a slight pause. The moon look-
ed quietly on and there seemed to be a
laugh on his broad face. Everything
was so quiet, not even a dog was barking.

"HerrHans!"

"Well, Friiulein Lora?"

"I am in a great hurry to get that di-
vorce." Her voice sounded a little plain-
tive.

"So am I, Fraulein Lora." And his
voice sounded sad.

"You see, there ought not to be any
delay."

"ISo, it is better not to delay."

"The sooner we talk it over the bet-
ter."

A Comedy of Errors. 209

"The better, Fraulein Lora."
"We might talk it over at once."
"If you think so, we will."
"You can come up into my room."
The door opened gently, Hans disap-
peared within, and presently found him-
self in Miss Neuman's neat and pleasant
room. She wore a white dressing gown
and looked very pretty.

"You see, it will cost us a deal of
money to get a divorce."

"Do you think anybody can see us
from below?"

"No, the windows are dark."
Then began a conversation about the
divorce which does not belong to our
tale.

Peace returned to Struck Oil City.

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She Who Will Not When She May. By Eleanor G. Walton.
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I. All's Well that Ends Well.

a. Antony and Cleopatra.

3. A Alidsummer Night's Dream.

4. As You Like It.

5. Comedy of Errors.
^. Ceriolanus.

7. Cvmbetine.

8. Hamlet.

9. Julius Caesar.

10. King Henry IV. (Part I.)

11. King Henry IV. (Part 11.)
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14 King Henry VI. (Part 11.)

1^ King Henry VI. (Part III.)

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19. King Richard II.

30. King Richard III.

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32. Macbeth.

23. Measure for Measure.

24. Much Ado About Nothinc.

25. Othello.
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27. Romeo and Juliet.

28. The Merchant of Venice.

29. The Merry Wives of Windsor.

30. The Taming of the Shrew.

31. The Tempest.

32. The Two Gentlemen of Verona.

33. The Winter's Tale.

34. Timon of Athens.

35. Titus Andronicus.

36. Troilus and Cressida.

37. Twelfth Night.

38. Venus and Adonis and Lucrece.
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